


Shadowlands

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Developing Relationship, Ensemble Cast, First Time, M/M, Post-Chosen, deux ex machina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander finds out that Spike is still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place post-Chosen and picks up specifically immediately after the "Angel" ep "Damage." I played with the time-line a little. Here, about a year has passed between the destruction of Sunnydale and Andrew's visit to L.A.

Xander Harris sat on the damp sand, chilly waves slowly licking up his outstretched ankles. He'd found the small, private niche formed by an outcropping of rocks on the second day he'd been in Nerja. Behind the boulders, a Mediterranean beach teemed with tourists—American college students slathering oil on each others' backs and begging for more ice in their precious Cokes; old women, locals, naked from the waist up, their breasts long and flat against their stomachs; families building sandcastles and combing the shoreline for shells and sea-smoothed bits of glass. But inside this circle of rocks, Xander was alone. The tiny headphones in his ears blocked out the noise from the beach, and the bottle of wine propped in the sand blurred the rest.

He'd left Africa a week ago. The newly re-formed Watchers' Council had pulled him out when the U. N. refused to consider the bloodshed in Darfur genocide. Giles had said on the phone in an accent thickened from nearly a year spent back in London, "Good Lord, Xander. Get out of there. I won't take no for an answer." And he hadn't, not even when Xander had protested that Sudan wasn't the only African nation where Willow had sensed emerging Slayers; he could go to South Africa or Egypt and keep busy until Sudan was safer. Instead, he'd found himself in an airport buying a ticket for the first city that caught his eye—Malaga, Spain. A short bus ride to Nerja later, and he was eating paella in a seaside restaurant and planning long, lazy days watching the surf.

Nine months in Africa had changed the former Scooby. His body was hard and lean, his hair much longer than he'd worn it in Sunnydale. He had tan lines on his face, thin strips of skin that had paled under the straps of his eye patch. However, the most noticeable change in Xander Harris wasn't something an observer could have pinpointed, exactly. He'd changed physically, sure, but the things he'd seen in Africa had left a mark on him as well.

Sunnydale had been a kind of alternate universe, Xander now realized. A little anomaly on this planet called Earth. Bad things happened in Sunnydale, but not real world bad things. Xander had seen death, too much death, before his sojourn to the Dark Continent. He had first-hand knowledge of loss and despair. Still, he found Africa shocking. The bodies leached of blood, not through twin punctures in the neck, but gunfire. Refugee camps stuffed with too many people trying to eat/shit/heal/love/play/SURVIVE in too little space. An entire fucking continent dying of an STD, and not the sort to be magicked away, but the kind that left mothers sobbing, "What else do I feed my babies? There's no formula. No clean water to mix it with, anyway. I can either watch them starve or kill them with my milk?" Xander saw those babies sometimes when he closed his eye, the same way he could still taste in the back of his throat the settling dust of Sunnydale. He wore that intangible, indistinguishable mark pain leaves somewhere on the face; in the square set of his jaw, maybe, or the slow, sad curve of his smile.

Xander drank a mouthful of wine and listened to the opening bars of a song that never failed to remind him of Sunnydale and the people he'd known there.

_Oh, the city rain_  
_ It floods the city streets_  
_ And in my city bed_  
_ Out of my fucking head_  
_ Is it snowing in space?_  
_ God, I wish I could talk to you_  
_ Is it snowing in space?_

_And all the city snow_  
_ Freezes the Chelsea hotel_  
_ It stones the Chelsea girls_  
_ It stones the Chelsea boys_  
_ Is it snowing in space?_  
_ God, I wish I could talk to you_  
_ Is it snowing in space?_

Xander had barely spoken to the remnants of the Sunnydale gang since they'd left the crater in the earth to forge new lives, or some other such end-of-the-book nonsense. He'd wanted to talk to them, lying in his cot in the dark, draped in mosquito netting. He'd had exactly a million and one imaginary conversations with his friends since he'd gotten on that plane at Heathrow headed for parts unknown. He told them how he took his malaria pills every day, without fail, that sharp medicinal taste as much a part of him now as anything else. How he'd ordered a gin and tonic on the flight to Malaga, and left it untouched once the bitter draw of quinine touched his lips. Those little things, things he noticed that would interest Willow or make Buffy laugh. But the few times he'd tried to call them, his throat felt like it was closing and he couldn't find any words, just mumbled greetings and silence that went on too long before someone finally said goodbye. Dawn, he wrote to without fail, never leaving her a forwarding address.

His reticence wasn't their fault, not really. Buffy was flitting around Italy with some immortal named the Immortal. How original and true to form for her. She had decided that she was going to live, Dawn was going to live, everybody was fucking going to live, goddamnit! And that's what she was doing. Living. Getting a taste of what it was like for all the girls who couldn't smash bricks into powder with a well-manicured fist. Willow was still in South America with Kennedy. That continued relationship surprised Xander, but he saw it for what it was. No child of the Hellmouth ever passed something that looked like it could be, might be, should be love without grabbing hold with two hands. Xander really had no idea what Giles was doing; the older man spoke to him in his capacity as current head of the Council and occasionally threw in a "Take care." Xander thought Giles always sounded busy, harried. They were rebuilding the Council from its smoldering ruins, after all.

Xander's mood shifted as the singer began the third verse of the song.

_How does your body feel today?_   
_ I forgot to ask_   
_ Genius in a hospital bed with brier patch hair_   
_ It just isn't fair_   
_ Taking bullets for a team of bad poets_   
_ How is it up there?_   
_ Taking bullets for the team_   
_ I really miss you_   
_ I fucked you over a million times_   
_ I fucked you over a million times_   
_ I fucked you over a million times and you died_   
_ You died_   
_ You died_   
_ You really died.*_

This was the part of the song where he thought about the people they'd left in the bottom of that hole. Anya, who he'd loved more than he ever thought was possible. The girl he'd once upon a time hoped would make all his dreams come true. And if he could only think about her in clichés, who was going to call him on it? In the days leading up to the final battle with the First, Xander had made a kind of peace with Anya. She'd forgiven him for leaving her and forgiven herself for the messy swathe she'd cut in human lives across the centuries. When she'd had the chance to flee, she didn't. Instead, she'd reached deeply inside her mortal frame for the dignity that allowed her to face death with a joke and a sword tightly gripped in her sweating palms. That's the part that got Xander. He never really thought Anya would die—himself maybe, or Buffy again, and surely some of the Potentials. But not Anya. She'd done the right thing, chosen humanity, chosen the good fight. How could she die? He was glad he hadn't found her body, hadn't seen her face locked in the pain of her final moments. Xander could almost smile, thinking his girl finally had answers to all those endless questions about heavenly dimensions.

_I fucked you over a million times and you died_

Now, that line was for Spike, the strangest vampire that Xander believed had ever, or would ever, walk this earth. Xander hadn't seen Spike die, either, but he'd heard Buffy tell the tale to Dawn. The Slayer had wiped her little sister's tears and told her that Spike had glowed with the same light she remembered from her stay in heaven. She said that, in the seconds before he died, she could see his soul, shining even more brightly than that holy light. Most importantly, Spike had given his love and goodbyes to them all, Dawn especially. Xander was certain that Buffy was taking a bit of license with the story from the hard edge of pain she tried to keep from her eyes, but Dawn hadn't questioned her sister. Just hugged her knees tightly to her chest and stared out the window as the bus crossed state lines.

Though he didn't understand it, Spike's death filled Xander with even more regret than Anya's. He'd continually baited Spike since he'd become an unwilling Scooby. He'd tied the vampire to a chair for hours on end, forced him to beg for his food, and laughed at his slow emasculation. He'd refused to trust him, even after Spike had clearly shown that he loved Dawn, that he would literally die to protect her. He made himself believe that Anya and Spike sleeping together was something more sinister than two very lonely people trying for a short time to touch something that didn't squeeze bruising hands around their hearts. Towards the end, they'd almost been friends. If Sunnydale was still standing, he might be playing pool at the Bronze with Spike right now, letting bygones be bygones. But the Big Bad was dead, dust. Xander felt the loss keenly. He'd fucked Spike over a million times. Anya, he'd only fucked over the once. Maybe that was the difference.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang. Xander checked the caller I.D. and grinned. Andrew.

Andrew was the one exception to his code of silence. The two talked regularly on the phone, and Andrew had even spent a few days with Xander in Africa after Xander had found a new Slayer willing to relocate to London for training. They'd gotten drunk on something sweet and spent the night trying to outdo each other with ghost stories. The U. N. aid workers had laughed uneasily as the tales got more horrifying, never dreaming that each bit of terror was a page ripped right from the young men's lives.

Andrew was, surprisingly, the most well-adjusted to life after the Hellmouth. Xander knew Andrew carried scars. Although he'd never asked, Xander was fairly certain that Andrew had been in love with Warren, maybe even Jonathon, too. Andrew still blamed himself for Anya's death, though it now took half a bottle of tequila for him to admit that. Somehow, he'd managed to gather all the pain inside himself and worry it like a pearl under his skin, until it was something tangible he could hold or put down as he wished. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the mission of rebuilding the Council. He squawked over the shiny toys the Watchers gave him. He sent Xander boxes of books and cartons of cigarettes to trade in the markets. The annoying virgin was no longer quite so annoying. And probably not a virgin anymore either, if his tales of forays into the London nightlife could be believed.

"Xander, where are you?"

"In Spain. Sitting on the beach, drinking wine, and scaring the locals with the pirate get-up. You?"

"On a plane back to London. Listen, Xander . . ." Andrew paused. Xander could hear his Adam's apple working furiously and guessed that whatever his friend had to say merited one huge drink before he could spit out the words. "I went to L. A. to see Angel. They had a crazy, newbie Slayer on the loose, and the Council sent me to bring her back to London for safe-keeping and the strongest dose of magical Xanax known to mankind. While I was there, I found out some things."

"What kind of things?" Xander's heartbeat sped up. Andrew never talked this seriously for anything other than apocalypses or the all important Deep Space Nine vs. Voyager debate. "C'mon, Andrew. The suspense is killing me."

"It's Spike. He's alive." Andrew paused for dramatic effect, then frowned when his pronouncement was met with silence. "Xander. Xander! Are you still on the line?"

 

*"City Rain, City Streets" by Ryan Adams


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place shortly after the _Angel_ ep "Damage."

Xander's fingers closed slowly around a handful of sand, powder-fine and warmed from the sun. The water that seemed to stretch out in a straight line from his toes to endlessness was blue and green and, in places, a kind of deep purple. The raw feeling he'd carried in his gut far too long eased marginally; he could feel the brokenness inside him wanting desperately to knit back together. Beach noise collapsed into nothingness, while Andrew's voice magnified to fill the void it left behind.

Xander drew a breath that, for once, didn't fight its way to the surface through a heavy weight. He smiled, one he thought just might crack the corners of his mouth and answered. "Yeah, I'm here, Andrew. I just can't believe it's possible. Whaddya mean, Spike's alive?"

Andrew snorted. "Well, he's not _technically_ alive, but ya know, as undead, as he ever was."

"How?" Xander thought he might get up and dance; grab one of those sorority girls lounging on towels just beyond his cover of rocks and swing her around until they were both dizzy and her boyfriend felt compelled to protect her honor from the crazy pirate. _Spike is alive. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive he's alive he's alive._

"That amulet he was wearing in the battle with the First sucked him inside somehow. I don't know exactly. Giles seems to think figuring out the mystery is really important. I can see research-frenzy seriously cutting into my _Stargate SG-1_ time."

"Sounds about right." Xander laughed. "So Giles knows about Spike? Do the others know yet?"

Xander heard Andrew's throat working furiously again and the tinny clink of glass against metal. When he spoke, Andrew's voice sounded small and very far away. "That's sorta the reason I'm calling, Xan."

Xander tightened his grip subconsciously on that handful of sand, the grains sliding between his fingers until his nails met no resistance and drew blood in his palm. Andrew had called him Xan precisely three times to date.

The first time--_they drank whiskey together in the tiny motel room they shared in Memphis, a battered school bus just visible through the slats of the blinds. Andrew gripped his arm and whispered, "I still feel it sometimes, Xan. The knife . . . just . . . going into him. It—it was easier than I thought it'd be. And his blood was on my hand; the blade...it caught on something inside him. I can't believe it was so easy." And then Andrew cried until he threw up, the dirty tile of the bathroom floor scoring his knees._

The second time Andrew used that name--_he and Xander were helping Giles organize his library in the office building that now served as the new Watchers' Headquarters. Andrew carelessly knocked a pile of books to the floor, and Giles responded angrily, "Stupid boy! These books are particularly volatile and could cause great harm should their bindings be broken. Pray go pester someone else. I'm sure Robin would love to hear again your fascinating rendition of the 'Tale of the Slayer of Vampyres.'" Giles took the armload of volumes to the back of the room and began to shelve them. Andrew recoiled from the Watcher's tone and ran a hand self-consciously through his dark blonde hair. Before he left, Andrew turned sad eyes on Xander. "I'll—I'll see ya later, Xan. I know I'm not needed or wanted here. I'm the Star Trek nerd who should've realised I was just a red shirt back in Sunnydale. I should've thrown myself on Ubervamp's sword and given Spock's farewell speech from Wrath of Khan. That would've been the way to go out. Not that Anya would've gotten it, but maybe she'd be here now instead of me." Before Xander could even respond, Andrew was gone, jamming his hands in his pockets and walking away with his chin nearly to his chest._

The last time--_they were in the desert, smoking hash Xander had bought from the local shaman and laughing at the mini-model of Uncles Owen's place on Tatooine they'd built from rocks and a desiccated piece of wood. It looked very little like the movie set, but the drugs were good, and they were pleased with the results. Xander rocked back on his heels and grinned at Andrew, his teeth a blinding white in his darkened face. Andrew loaded another bowl of the sticky stuff, starting to smile himself, when the hand holding the lighter shook violently. "Are you okay?" Xander asked, concern pulling him quickly to something resembling sobriety. _

_"Yeah. I'm okay. I got hit with some mojo two months ago. One of the new Slayers Buffy found in Rome was a witch. Nothing to rival scary, veiny Willow, but a pretty powerful witch all the same. Long story short, she didn't want to play the white hat so she zapped me. I still get shaky sometimes."_

_Xander took the pipe from him then and, holding it to his friend's mouth, lit the ball of hash. Andrew blew thick smoke down on Uncle Owen's igloo and said, "I met a guy that same trip. A nice, normal guy who teaches English at a language school just outside Vatican City. He came to the hotel to pick me up for dinner right after WitchBitch sent about a bajillion volts through me. Buffy was all powerful and firm and didn't even let him in the room. My clothes were charred; I smelled like Porky's Barbecue minus the yummy sauce. He must've seen past Buffy, though, 'cause I never heard from him again." Andrew stared at his hands as the shaking reduced to a tremble, then an occasional twitch. "How do we start over outside Sunnydale? At least on the Hellmouth, everybody knew that things really go bump in the night. Even the ones who pretended not to see knew there just aren't enough rabid dogs on the whole planet to account for all the people who die from 'canine' bites. People out here don't know. Really don't know. I just want somebody to understand all the freaky shit I've been through and love me anyway. Xan, I'm so lonely."_

Xander felt an icy wash of apprehension threaten to overwhelm the first moment of joy he'd felt in what seemed like years and forced himself to concentrate instead on what Andrew was saying. "Giles sent me to L.A. for the psycho Slayer, but also to deliver a message. Angel and his team of Scoobie-clones have joined forces with Wolfram and Hart, this empire of lawyers who have their demonic fingers in evil pies all around the world. Angel's CEO of their California office now, and he's trying to do good with their resources, but the Council is afraid he's being, um, corrupted. The seers in the Council seem to think something bad is coming and that the L. A. gang will be involved. They want no part of whatever, and I quote, 'misery they bring on themselves.' Giles even made me memorize a little speech—'Nobody in our camp trusts you anymore. You work for Wolfram and Hart. Don't fool yourself . . . We're not on the same side.' I didn't really have a problem with this scenario. I'd go, get the Slayer, deliver the message, come home, and be playing WarCraft again before two days had passed. So, I waited in the conference room for Angel, but when the door opened, it was Spike."

Andrew laughed then, a genuine belly laugh. "I was just so shocked to see him. It was like . . . he was resurrected for being such a real hero. You know? I was so nervous I babbled—'You're like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog, only more beautiful than ever.' That's what I said. I think he was happy to see me too. He didn't throw me off when I started hugging him even though, I kinda snotted on his shirt, I think."

Xander laughed too, despite the feeling that Andrew had other, more unpleasant things to say. "I would've gone with the _Search for Spock_ metaphor, myself, and wow, I think I really hit the top of the geek threshold with that comment."

Andrew giggled. "I just couldn't help myself, Xander. You know how I feel about him. He's like Han Solo and Worf and David Bowie all rolled into one. He's just so amazing. Anyway, I realized right off that Spike is working for them, with them. I've come to chew out these people I don't know, just like Giles told me to, and instead I get to tell the guy who saved my life—the whole world, really—to s-s-sod off."

Xander smiled internally at Andrew's choice of words. The new Watcher often peppered his conversation with British slang, but Xander couldn't tell if Andrew did it for effect or if the change in his friend's speech patterns was the unconscious result of living in London. "What did you do?"

"What did I do? What did I do? I acted like a total loser; that's what I did. It's like I went back in time and turned into that geek everyone knew and distrusted back in Sunnydale. I couldn't stand to face Spike the way I am now. I've changed so much, Xander. I didn't want to look at him with my true face and tell him that we're leaving him to sink or swim. So I played the part. I told Wesley that I was more of an expert on the paranormal than he is and implied that Giles still has doubts about him. I told 'The Tale of the Slayer of the Vampyres' and could feel their eyes on me. The looks on their faces said it all. They weren't impressed even a little, just like back at Headquarters. I chomped on a pipe and generally made a huge ass of myself in front of everybody. It felt easier that way, less of a betrayal somehow."

"I'm sorry, Andrew. Really sorry they sent you to do a shit job. But Giles obviously didn't know Spike was alive, or he wouldn't have . . ."

"That's just the thing," Andrew interrupted. "He did know. Whoever called him from L. A. told him Spike was alive. He knows, and he just doesn't care."

"What?! I don't understand. Spike went up like a Roman candle for the good of all mankind, and Giles doesn't think that deserves some consideration? He thinks something bad is going down soon in L. A., and Spike doesn't get a heads-up?" Xander drew a ragged breath and thought _Calm calm calm calm calm._ He looked out at the sea and willed the rage welling up inside him to subside. He focused on the sailboats dotting the harbor, the salt drying on his calves, the tiny waves folding in on themselves and merging to dash like lemmings against his feet.

"It gets worse, Xander. Angel's gang doesn't seem to care, either. About Spike, I mean. Psycho Slayer cut both his hands off . . ."

Xander shot to his feet, all pretense of calm abandoned. "His hands! She cut off his fucking hands!"

"Hey, Xander, breathe, my friend. Some demon doctor on the Wolfram and Hart payroll reattached them, and he's good as new. The point is, no one on Angel's team seemed to give a flying crap. They had Spike patched up, but nobody went to the hospital to check on him or acted like they really cared about what had happened to him. It was so sad, Xander. He was all alone and hurting and couldn't even move his fingers and . . . he was so alone. Most of the time I was in L. A., everyone treated Spike like . . . well, like how I'm treated. And he doesn't deserve that. I know what I am, what I was and . . . he doesn't deserve that. Not after all he's done. I don't think he wants to stay there but he's afraid to leave. He doesn't want Buffy to know he's alive. I think he feels like he has nowhere else to go."

Something warm and full of regret broke in Xander's chest. _Nowhere to go. Why would he think we want him? After all the things we said, I said . . ._ "Do you think Angel really is being corrupted?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Harmony is his receptionist!"

Xander snickered. "Good one. I'll bet Cordelia is just eating that up with a spoon."

"Oh, God. That's the other thing. Xander, Cordy's in a coma."

Suddenly, Xander felt numb. Apparently a body doesn't forget the proper way to respond to tragedy, after all. He'd felt like this after Jesse died, after Ms. Calendar died, after he'd become the hyena, after they'd put Buffy in the ground. His lips twisted in a wry parody of a grin. _Nope. No breaks for us. Nobody ever really escapes the Hellmouth, I guess._

"For how long?" Xander demanded. "Will she get better?"

Andrew sighed. "I don't know. Months, maybe. Since before Spike turned up. No one would say. They almost seemed confused about what happened to her. I did a tiny spell in Angel's bathroom to check for magical residue. I think their memories are being controlled somehow, like in that new cool new movie with Julianne Moore. Only, you know, not really cool so much as . . . twisted and weird. Except Angel and Spike. Their auras are clear. The only ones that are, actually."

Xander sat back on the sand and let a long, companionable silence grow between them. Silence had cemented their friendship in the first place; their willingness to share the same space and not say anything was a precious commodity. He could hear the Slayers on Andrew's plane laughing and giggling. He heard Andrew pour another drink.

Finally, Andrew spoke. "You're going to L. A., aren't you?"

"Yeah. I owe it to Spike and Cordelia. I can't just leave Spike where he's not wanted. And I have to know what happened to Cordy and if she's in any danger."

"I thought you'd go." Xander could hear the wistfulness in Andrew's voice and thought again how deeply his friend's charade must've hurt him. "Call me when you get there?"

"You bet. Thanks, Andrew."

Xander hung up the phone. At some point during the conversation the wine bottle had tipped, spilling a wide arc on the sand. The stain was deep reds and browns like old blood. Xander dragged a finger through its wetness and made a call to the Council's travel agent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place shortly after the Ats episode "Damaged." In my world, about a year has passed between the destruction of Sunnydale and that ep. Xander discovers Spike is alive and flies to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander settled down into his aisle seat and smiled companionably at the middle-aged woman wedged between him and the tiny airplane window. She cast a lengthy sidelong glance at his missing eye, smiled tentatively, and immediately returned her attention to the crossword puzzle spread across her ample lap. The woman's obvious interest in his defect didn't flush his cheeks under their tan or radiate self-pitying heat down to his chest, as it would've a year ago. Still, Xander couldn't help the unease that skittered down his spine with her glance. Even after all the lack he'd noticed in Africa—human bodies missing parts far more essential than a single eye—Xander felt a deeply secret shame, a brokenness, every time he was reminded of what he'd lost. He shifted slightly in his seat and forced his attention away from his missing eye.

Xander pulled a novel, one he'd read before, from his rucksack and began to read. _Lady Audley's Secret_ was perhaps a surprising choice for the Scoobies' scholastic underachiever, but his work for the Council had awakened in Xander a thirst for the simple, uncomplicated, unmechanized leisures of life. He remembered acutely that first month in the desert before he'd come to terms with the differences between his life in Sunnydale and life in a developing country.

_Of course the village didn't have a television; it didn't have electricity, either. Or running water. Or a septic system. Two weeks of a nagging restlessness, an itchy twitchy feeling under his skin, and Xander was ready to make some serious negotiations with Lucifer himself just to watch commercials. For anything. Even feminine hygiene products. He'd discovered in his first days at the camp that sitting around the fire listening to the aid workers translate tribal stories that sounded like brutal, strange poetry relieved his boredom more fully than he ever would've imagined. Xander also found that the passable singing voice he'd uncovered thanks to Sweet's spell improved rapidly with practice. Fire time usually included several rounds of songs that often lasted into the late hours of the evening; Xander eagerly learned the words to African folk songs, old English ballads, and a surprising number of eighties' top forty hits._

_But alone in the night, when all the camp was sleeping, and Xander could feel the cold air wrapping around his body and seeping into his bones, could hear muffled crying, and smell the rot of sickness around him, he longed for the oblivion of television, the radio, the PlayStation. Something to drown out Africa and transport him somewhere else._

_One night, Xander remarked to Andrew during one of their scheduled phone calls, "I would chop off my left hand and complete the Captain Hook ensemble just for something to do at night, Andrew. I think I'd even read!" And they both laughed, and Xander forgot what he'd said almost immediately. A week later, a box of books came for him. Andrew had apparently indiscriminately cleared out a shelf of a used bookstore. The box contained science fiction novels, romances, some biographies, murder mysteries, and more than a few classics. Xander read them all over the next months, discovering that he truly enjoyed the Victorian novels. They were full of fantastic situations, outlandish secrets, and written with subtle, but witty humor. He didn't always get the literary allusions or the outdated British slang, but Xander had only time on his hands, and he was patient. Sometimes he'd let himself think, This is something Spike might've read when he was living._

As the plane began its ascent, Xander turned the well-worn pages of _Lady Audley's Secret_ to a familiar passage:

_Once, while they were abroad, Robert Audley ventured to congratulate him upon his recovered spirits. He burst into a bitter laugh. "Do you know, Bob," he said, "that when some of our fellows were wounded in India, they came home bringing bullets inside them? They did not talk of them, and they were stout and hearty, and looked as well, perhaps, as you or I; but every change in the weather, however slight, every variation of the atmosphere, however trifling, brought back the old agony of their wounds as sharp as ever they had felt it on the battle-field. I've had my wound, Bob; I carry the bullet still, and I shall carry it into my coffin._*

Xander closed the book and rubbed at the scar under his eye patch. He wondered idly if the plane would fly over Sunnydale's crater.

~ ~ ~

Xander walked cautiously from the elevator onto Angel's floor of the Wolfram and Hart office building. Seated directly in front of him at the receptionist's desk, Harmony stared intently at a computer screen, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. Over the staccato of one-fingered typing, Xander imagined he could hear her brain gradually overloading from the exertion. _Some things never change._ He immediately spotted Angel's office and strode quickly across the open foyer, hoping to avoid a high school reunion with the former Cordette.

Two steps from Angel's door, a cold hand grabbed his arm with surprising strength. Harmony tugged Xander back towards her desk, her eyes slowly appraising him as Xander resisted. With some shock, Xander realized Harmony was checking him out and evidently not disliking what she saw.

"Where do you think you're going? Nobody sees the boss without an appointment. I'm, like, Angel's executive assistant." (Xander snorted internally.) "If you want to see him, I'll schedule you in. I think the boss has an opening for next Thursday."

Harmony let her hand linger on his arm a few seconds longer than necessary before releasing it. The blond woman smiled at him, and not so subtly allowed her breast to brush his back as she leaned over the desk to retrieve her appointment book.

Xander smirked. "Look, as fun as all this is, Harm, I really need to see Angel. Before next Thursday. I don't think he'll mind the interruption."

Harmony's eyes widened comically, and she put one perfectly manicured hand to her coral mouth before squealing, "Oh. My. God. Xander!!! You look . . . really sexy. Which is a completely new look for you. I should've recognized you, though. You still smell the same. I guess my vamp senses are going wonky on me; it must be all the pig's blood the boss makes us eat. Company rules. Anyway, what are you doing here? What happened to your eye?"

"Long story. Let me see Angel."

"Okay, but wait until I buzz you in." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He's been in a joy-sucking broodathon for, like, forever now." Harmony rolled her eyes and pressed a button on the speakerphone. "Angel, you have a visitor that needs to see you immediately."

Xander heard a long sigh and then the low timbre of Angel's voice. "Fine. Send whoever or whatever it is in."

As Xander once again approached Angel's door, he heard Harmony call out from her desk. "Hey, Xander. Maybe we could get drinks or something tonight after I get off work. Rehash old times." Xander waved his hand behind him noncommittally and pushed open the door.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Xander noticed that Angel seemed to have aged at least a decade since they'd last met, his haggard look even more shocking to Xander since vampires can't physically age. Angel radiated weariness; his eyes were bloodshot, and the intensity of gaze that Xander remembered so well was gone. In its place was a look of numbness, the kind of apathy only created through relentless pain. Xander knew that look; he'd seen it staring back at him in the mirror many times.

Finally, Angel broke the silence. "Why are you here, Xander? Andrew made it very clear that the new Council isn't interested in any of our problems."

Xander crossed the room and put his hand on the large window that shed light into the office. _I bet Spike loves this glass._ "I don't want to waste my time in L. A. on small talk with you, so I'll just get this all out at once. Not everybody agrees with the Council, Angel. Not even Andrew. Giles sent him here to do his dirty work, and Andrew looks up to the G-man too much to argue. You might have been a murdering bastard, but I'm willing to give you a break. For every time you've tried to kill me, or actually killed someone I care about, you've also saved my life or the life of someone I love. If you need help, I'm offering. Secondly, I'm here because of Spike. I want him to know he doesn't have to stay in L.A. if he doesn't want to. He's got a Scoobie-sized list of people, myself included, who wouldn't mind putting up that particular vamp for as long as he needs. Finally, I'm here because of Cordelia. You're hiding something about her coma. And before you give me a hard time, Andrew could tell that everyone's memories are mojoed. Everyone except yours. What's going on, Angel? If Cordy's in danger, I can take her out of here. She'll be safe in London."

Angel glanced down at his hands, his lips set in a grim line. When he looked back up, the vampire suddenly looked very fragile, as if he might shatter from the sheer effort of continued existence.

"She's not in any danger, Xander. I'll tell you what happened."

~ ~ ~

Xander held Cordelia's hand and softly stroked it with his fingertips. She looked good, like maybe she'd just drifted off to sleep on top of a pile of books after a late night Scoobie research party. Angel had spared no expense for her care. Her hair was combed and arranged, her nails manicured, her lips shiny and smelling faintly of strawberries when Xander placed a chaste kiss there.

"Hey, Queen C. How're ya doing in there? I've really missed you. Not the soul-crushing emasculation, mind you, but your smile and your honesty. Those I've missed. Angel told me everything that happened. I'm so sorry, Cordy. I really thought that one of us would get the prize in the cereal box, and I always thought it would be you. You escaped the Hellmouth and never looked back. I guess I was naïve to think the creepy crawlies couldn't find you here in L. A."

Xander settled back in the bedside chair, still holding Cordelia's hand in his own. "So, Angel has a son. Who knocked you up with an ancient hellgod. Man, we're an incestuous little group. Me and you. Me and Anya. Me and Willow that one time in high school. You and Connor. You and Wesley. Anya and Spike. Let's not even mention Buffy's track record." Xander grinned at the motionless woman in front of him. "I understand why Angel wanted everyone to forget. Sometimes I wouldn't mind a spell that could erase Sunnydale for me." Xander sighed. "I guess you didn't know that Anya and I were going to get married. Well, we didn't. I left her at the altar. Some tiny piece of me thought we might make up one day, but she went and did what we white hats seem to do best. She died."

He peeled the eye patch from his face and stuffed it in his pocket. _Not like Cordy's gonna mind._ "You would've liked her, I think, once you got past the whole she-sent-me-to-a-hell-dimension-where-I-was-eaten-by-vampires thing. You and she were a lot alike, actually. Totally tactless but full of heart. I miss her. You probably don't know this either, but Spike's alive. What am I saying? You probably didn't even know he was dead. The last time you saw Spike wasn't exactly his finest moment, what with the hot pokers and all. He changed so much, Cordelia. Underneath all that Big Badassedness, Spike is just as vulnerable and alone as the rest of us. We really should have been friends. He's the only reason I'm not sporting a seeing-eye dog. I never told him how much that means to me. I don't say the 'w' word anymore, but I hope he knows."

Cordelia opened her eyes and grinned. "Well, dumbass, why don't you just tell him?"

 

 

*_Lady Audley's Secret_ by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Penguin Classic pg 52


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander discovers Spike is alive and comes to L.A. to see for himself. In my world, about a year has passed between the destruction of Sunnydale and "Damage."

"Just tell him," Xander repeated mechanically, all thoughts of Spike momentarily forgotten. His mouth hung open in shock for a few moments, and then Xander grinned back at Cordelia. He bent to grab her in a fierce hug when he suddenly realized, _Oh, shit. The patch. I took it off._ Xander backed a step away from the bed, head down, hand scrabbling frantically in his pocket and finally pulling the patch free, only to tangle its strap around his belt buckle. _Oh, god, the first thing she sees shouldn't be this ugly hole in my face. I never wanted her . . . anybody, to see this._ Xander willed down the panic, breathed deep and long, filling his lungs and releasing the air until he could control his movements. Slowly, he began to unpick the knot. Xander flinched when Cordelia covered his still slightly trembling hands in her own.

"Xander, look at me."

When he refused, she tipped his head back and forced him to meet her gaze. Before he could stop her, Cordelia's fingers were ghosting over the hollow and its scar. He tried to pull away, but Cordelia held him in a much tighter grip than he remembered.

"Xander, you have a lot of things to be ashamed of—your fashion sense, that love spell, making smoochies with Willow behind my back. But not your eye. Never your eye. Like it or not, this is who you are now—not perfect, not ruined. Just Xander."

The sharp metallic edge of shame began to dissipate, and Xander pulled Cordelia into his arms. He let himself cry, then, the tears that had been threatening to fall since he'd entered the room—great hitching sobs that bruised his throat and soaked the front of Cordelia's gown.

_This is just too much. Spike's alive, and Cordelia's miraculously cured from her coma. And she touched me . . . there, and I never realized before how much it's hurt me to hide._

Xander's tears tapered off and, for a moment, he just rested, his head buried in Cordelia's soft curls. "I'm sorry, Cordy. I didn't mean to freak out on you like that. It's just, nobody sees my eye. Ever."

Cordelia smiled sadly. "I know. I've been watching you."

"Watching me? What do you mean?"

Cordelia picked at the hem on her gown and tried to explain. "After Jasmine was born—and wasn't that a blast?—the part of me that was still me lost it. I'd done the deed with the son of the man—vampire, whatever—I loved." At Xander's questioning glance, Cordelia added, "Me and Angel were kinda starting a thing before I slept with Connor and unleashed a hellgod on Los Angeles. So not a cool thing to do. I couldn't deal. The Powers took me in. It's their fault that Jasmine could get to me in the first place, anyway. I've been helping them ever since, watching out for my guys here in L.A. and all the old Sunnydale gang."

"So, it's not just a coincidence that you woke up on the one day the Xan-man comes for a visit?"

"That would be a no. I wasn't supposed to wake up yet. But I didn't expect you to come to L.A., and I didn't want to miss seeing you again, Xander. So, I pulled a few strings, came back early, and here I am with a message for you from the Great Beyond."

Xander's heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went dry. The monitor next to Cordelia's bed made a low and steady whine. The fluorescent light above them flickered once, twice, then stilled. Outside in the courtyard an orderly mowed the lawn, the sweet sunlight smell of freshly-cut grass filling the room and sliding under the bleach and medicine tang of hospital. Cordelia crossed her arms in front of her and kept right on looking at him, something open and frank and teasing and vaguely full of sorrow in her eyes.

"You don't mean . . . Anya? You have a message for me from Anya?" His voice caught on her name, and Xander shifted his weight from the left foot to the right. He felt hope, like a tiny thing with wings, rustle in his chest.

"That's the girl. And you were right, Xander. We get along great. If it wasn't for Anya, I'd be crazier than Angelus about now. Heaven is pretty freaking boring." Cordelia stopped abruptly and glanced quickly up at the ceiling. "I mean, it's serene. Heaven is serene and comforting, and ummm . . . quiet." She mouthed at Xander _Boring_. "Anyway, Anya told me to give you this." Cordelia reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out a lavender envelope with Xander's name on the front in Anya's handwriting.

Xander took it in reverent hands and would've opened it right away, but Cordelia stopped him. "I've got to get a move on, Xander. I don't have long on this plane, and I have to deliver a message to Angel. Something's brewing, and the Powers want their champion back on track."

The sorrow in Cordelia's eyes briefly intensified and, with sudden clarity, Xander realized what she meant. "So, this is goodbye?"

"Yeah. Last pit stop on the road to Gloryland. When my mission here is done, this body will die and I'll go back to the astral plane, for good this time."

Xander stood, almost crushing Anya's letter in his agitation. "Why do you have to die, Cordy? We've been the PTB's cannon fodder for eight fun-filled years," he said sarcastically. "Can't they give us a break? It's not fair! We do good for all those people out there, sitting down to dinner, playing happy families and never knowing the world almost ended ...again. We lose the people we love most so strangers can keep pretending things don't go bump in the night. I've watched too many people I love die." Xander stopped to take a ragged breath, and said brokenly, "I won't lose you, too."

Cordelia threw the covers off the bed and crossed the cold floor on bare feet, oblivious to the open back of her gown, and held him. Squeezed him in those too strong arms and made soothing noises into his neck. "Xander, I have to go. You're right, believe me. It's not fair, but neither of us can stop the inevitable. I'm just glad I got a chance to say goodbye. I love you, Xander Harris. You were the first man I ever really loved, and you loved me right back with a pure and innocent love I was too dumb to appreciate." She thought that over for a moment. "Okay, maybe not so pure and innocent, considering the under-the-bleachers gropage. Thank you, Xander. For everything. As long as you're living, Anya and I will be looking out for you."

Xander kissed the top of her head. "It helps to think of you two giving the PTB hell." They both laughed softly, and Xander took a step back. "Umm . . . Cordy? Your ass is kinda hanging out of that gown. Not that I'm not admiring the view, but . . . "

Cordelia bunched the back of her gown into one fist and snickered. "Damn straight; it's a fine ass. Now, c'mon, Xander. I may just be a glorified errand girl, but nobody said I couldn't look good doing it. We've got some shopping to do."

~ ~ ~

Xander settled back into a chair and sipped his beer. Around him, the bar slowly filled with smoke and people, most of whom looked to be the indie crowd from the local college. Everywhere he looked—lots of black plastic glasses and Vans and skirts he'd learned this afternoon with Cordelia were called "deconstructed."

_They spent a couple hours blowing thousands of dollars on Rodeo Drive. "Hey! It's not like I'll be around to get the credit card bill," Cordelia said, right before she loaded up the salesgirl's arms with a dress and shoes for herself and slacks and jeans and soft button-down shirts for Xander._

After the shopathon, Cordelia kissed him on the cheek and hailed a cab. "Bye, Xander. I love you. Gotta go see about a guy." Then she climbed in the yellow door, and the taxi sped away down the busy street. Xander watched until he could no longer see the taillights, then went back to his hotel, cracked open a bottle from the mini-bar, and read Anya's letter.

Dear Xander,  
It's me, Anya. I want you to know I'm doing fine. Heaven's not exactly what I thought it would be. There's far too much solemnity for my taste. But I'm trying to convince the PTB to let me open a store, something to provide a variety of austere robes and monastical accoutrement. I don't seem to be making much headway, though. Apparently the PTB have transcended the desire for money. How do you transcend the desire for money? Despite that minor setback, I'm safe, I have a friend, and not living under the constant threat of mortal danger is kinda nice.

Xander, I want you to know I forgive you for everything that happened between us. From up here, I can see why we didn't work out. As much as we loved each other, we weren't meant to be. Your destiny intersects with someone else's. I want you to remember when you find this person that you have my blessing. And no matter how difficult it may prove to let yourself love again, don't give up, Xander. This love you're meant to find won't be easy but, I promise you, it will be worth it. I love you, Xander, and, as the kids say, I got your back.  
Anya  
P.S. There's a matchbook taped inside the envelope. Be there at 8:30 sharp this evening. You don't want to miss this.

So, there he was, sitting in a dive, in the nicest pair of pants he'd ever owned, wondering why Anya had sent him to this particular place and trying desperately not to feel the ache in his heart that came from knowing she'd given him permission to love someone else. Someone new. Someone not Anya. Xander jumped when the metallic whine of a microphone interrupted his thoughts.

A young man with long, emo-boy hair, a velvet, thriftstore blazer hanging from his thin frame, cleared his throat and blew into the mike. Raising his arms, he said, "Yes, ladies and gentlemen. It's that time again. Welcome to Free Verse Night at Finnegan's Wake!* We've got a multitude of poets lined up for your listening pleasure—some old favorites and quite a few newbies. Many of you know our first poet of the evening from Thursday's Night of Forms. This man is positively Petrarchan with a sonnet, smashing with a sestina, and just plain wicked with a villanelle. But tonight, he's offering something a little more twenty-first century. Everybody give it up for William!" The bar erupted into applause as a blond-haired man in a leather coat took the stage.

Xander inhaled a small mouthful of beer and coughed quietly into a napkin, hoping not to attract attention to himself. _Spike. His hair's a little different, curlier, not as crunchy, and he's wearing, gasp, a blue T-shirt instead of the standard issue black, but that's the famous duster. And that's definitely Spike. Anya must know I came to L.A. to see him._ Xander slumped down further in his chair, hoping that Spike wouldn't notice him until he'd finished his performance.

Spike pulled some papers from the inner pocket of his duster and began to read.

"This first one's titled 'Avalanche,' and it's dedicated to B.

Avalanche  
I found your photograph  
In a cardboard box in a magazine  
I can't remember you, remember us or anything  
I taught you how to feel, but you just feel numb  
They taught you how to feel, but you just feel numb  
She comes apart in the avalanche  
Fades out like a dance  
Crawls back into bed when it's over  
And it's over

I watch the window and listen for the sound of cars  
I can't remember the last time that it was yours  
I taught you how to feel, why do you feel numb  
They taught us how to feel, but we just feel numb  
She falls apart in the avalanche  
Fades out like a dance  
And crawls back into bed when it's over  
And it's over" **

Xander shouldn't have worried that he'd be discovered. Spike looked out over the audience as he read, but his eyes were empty, far away, and Xander knew he was seeing a girl with golden hair and a brilliant smile who'd never really loved him. When Spike's voice caught on that last line, Xander felt as if he'd accidentally caught him naked. The rest of the audience saw a man reading a poem; Xander saw a friend, a comrade in arms, a brother he'd supposed fallen mourning the death of something he'd never even had. Suddenly the pain was too palpable, too right there, and Xander stood up, his chair making a loud scraping sound on the floor. He threw some money on the bar to cover his tab and held his breath until he was outside in the L.A. night.

He stood hunched under the streetlight, staring at his shoes, lost in thoughts of _Anya. Spike. Cordelia. Sunnydale_ until a hand tapped him on the shoulder. Xander turned. He knew who it was; he knew, and then he was looking into puzzled blue eyes.

Spike said, "Harris? Xander? What're you doing here?"

 

*the bar is named after the title of a crazy-ass novel by James Joyce that plays with the boundaries/confines/limitations/possibilities of language; in short, a hugely pretentious name for a bar

** "Avalanche" by Ryan Adams on the album _Love is Hell_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic begins shortly after the Ats episode "Damaged." In my world, about a year has passed since the destruction of Sunnydale and that ep. Xander finds out that Spike is alive in L.A. and goes to see for himself.

"Harris? Xander? What're you doing here?"

Outside the illuminated arc cast by the streetlight, the sidewalk faded into deep blue, then black. The street was thick with traffic and sound, and the corner where they stood was far from deserted. Behind them, rounds of applause spilled through the door of the bar when it opened and closed around a steady stream of patrons.

But Xander noticed none of these things as they stood in that circle of light, Spike's hand still on his shoulder. Instead, Xander noticed the way Spike's hair made a diffused halo around his head in the harsh fluorescence, the golden warmth lent to Spike's skin by that unnatural light, the sharp angle of cheekbones grown sharper since their last meeting.

When Xander didn't immediately answer, Spike asked again, "Why are you here, Harris?"

"To see you." Xander ignored the surprise in Spike's eyes and pushed the vampire's coat and shirt-sleeve up to his elbow. He ran his fingers lightly over Spike's wrist, over that juncture of arm and hand. No scar or seam met his gentle touch; nothing indicated a recent wound. Spike didn't flinch or jerk away as he might have long ago, once upon a time, in a basement far, far away. Instead, he stood quietly as Xander examined his hand, and then suddenly wrapped his arms around Spike in a crushing hug.

"You probably don't do hugs, Spike, but humor me just this once. I thought you were dead. Gone. Then Andrew called and said you were here in L.A. and some psycho slayer had chopped your hands off." _Just a few more seconds_, then Xander pushed out of the arms that had tentatively returned his embrace and asked, trying desperately to keep the hurt from his voice, "Why didn't you let us know you were alive?"

Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, avoiding Xander's eyes. He shook one from the box and lit it, inhaling deeply. "It's not that simple."

"Yes. It is that simple. You pick up the phone. You call."

"How was I to know any of you lot cared to hear from me, especially you? 'S not like we were best mates or anything." Spike took another drag, and then flicked the spent cigarette down the sidewalk in a skittering of sparks. He looked at Xander, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Xander sighed. "I know. And towards the end, that was my fault. Not yours. At the time, it made sense to hate you. Now, I think I'd rather have been your friend."

Spike's jaw dropped, and an almost cartoonish look of shock appeared on his face. Just then, a large group of students exited the bar, crowding Xander and Spike closer to the curb. Spike reached out automatically to steady Xander when one of the students stumbled, knocking into Xander's blind side. Xander nodded in thanks, squashing down embarrassment at Spike's tacit acknowledgement of his disability.

When the crowd had passed, Xander suggested, "Hey, Spike. Wanna take this conversation off the street?"

"Yeah. I got a flat two blocks over from here." Xander smiled, embarrassment forgotten, and fell in step with Spike as he led the way to his home.

~ ~ ~

Xander followed Spike into his apartment and sat on the couch while his host fetched two beers from the fridge. "Oooh, _Golden Eye_. Classic," he said, picking up a game cartridge from the coffee-table. "You got Bond-Invisible yet?"

Spike reappeared with two Bass and shook his head. "Nah. Haven't even played that one. Still working on _Vice City_. Bloody brilliant game, that is. You can beat prostitutes to death on the street, then steal their pimps' cars, all to a fabulous soundtrack."

Xander grinned and rolled his eyes. "Sounds fantastic." He looked down at his beer, not really sure where to take the conversation from there. He wanted to tell Spike about Cordelia, about the trouble the Powers sensed brewing in L. A., about Angel's son. But sitting in Spike's apartment, on Spike's couch, watching him fidget restlessly with his Zippo, Xander wanted nothing more than to hang out with the vampire and drink beer. Maybe play some video games, watch a movie. Forget for an hour that people he loved were still dying. Searching for small talk, Xander commented, "So, you're a poet now?"

Spike grimaced. "Always have been. I fancied myself quite the writer before Dru turned me. Course, everything I wrote was overblown, treacly rubbish."

"I don't know much about poetry, Spike, but what you read tonight didn't sound like rubbish to me." Spike shifted on his end of the couch, a pleased smile gracing his lips. "If you were so awful before, why'd you start writing again?" Xander asked, honestly curious. He'd never heard Spike talk so candidly about his past.

Spike took a long pull on his beer and answered. "Never really stopped. A century of practice is bound to improve anybody's writing. Even Angelus liked my poetry after awhile."

"Angelus likes poetry?" Xander tried in vain to wrap his mind around that one.

"Angelus always liked a spot of verse to commemorate the raping and the pillaging."

Xander nodded. "Ah, makes much more sense now. You were like Gabrielle to his Xena, recording Angelus's evil exploits for generations of little vampires to come."

"So many things wrong with that analogy, mate. A long wooden stick—really not my weapon of choice. And can you see Angelus in a leather bustier? Plus, those bints are always mooning over each other, nattering on about their feelings and holding hands, when you know they're dying to skip all that shit and just shag each other senseless. Right. Maybe that analogy's better than I thought."

Xander nearly choked on his beer. "You had sex with Angel?"

"No. I had sex with Angelus. Worlds of difference, Harris." Spike leaned back in his chair and smirked, obviously enjoying Xander's discomfort at this revelation.

"Okay. So not interested in the details of your freaky vampire incest. Moving right along here. Oh, wait. Did Buffy know about this?" Xander was sorry the instant the question left his mouth. _Damn it, Xander. What is wrong with you? You heard that poem, for fuck's sake. The last thing he needs is you bringing up Buffy._

Spike tensed, all the mirth leaving his eyes. "No, and I'd like to keep it that way." He absently peeled the label on his Bass with nails painted black and asked quietly, "How is she?"

Xander rubbed at the skin under his patch and wondered how to answer that question. "She's good. Dawn too. They're safe and happy. I don't know much more than that. I don't keep in good touch with any of the Scoobies anymore. Well, except Andrew, but he never really was a Scooby."

Spike snorted, a little of the tension leaving his body. "That tosser? You don't talk to Red or the Niblet, but you keep up with Andrew?"

"I know Andrew didn't make the best impression, Spike, but he's not really like that anymore. He was so embarrassed that the Council isn't helping you guys that he acted like a dumbass to cover it up. He's been a good friend to me," Xander finished, a touch defensively.

Spike seemed to notice and changed his tack. "Well, I will say this for the ponce; he was the first and only person besides you to act like it wasn't an utter tragedy that amulet spit me back out." He lit another cigarette and moved closer on the couch to Xander until their legs were nearly touching. "Andrew told me about Anya. I'm sorry, mate. I know how much you loved her."

Xander swallowed the lump in his throat that rose at the mention of her name and resisted the urge to hug Spike again. "Thanks, Spike. I miss her. A lot."

"Harris . . ." Spike hesitated a moment before finishing the sentence. "Xander, I'm sorry for what happened between me and Anya. I had no right—"

Xander interrupted him. "Spike, it took me a long time but I'm not mad at you, or her, anymore. You were hurting; she was hurting. You needed each other. I still don't like it, but I understand."

Spike nodded once and crushed his cigarette in the ash tray. Xander reached into his pocket to pull out Anya's note; he wanted to show Spike that she had found some measure of happiness in the afterlife. Before Xander could find the note in the collection of receipts and travel vouchers he'd stashed in his coat pocket, someone knocked on Spike's door.

Spike opened the door and let a man inside. Xander thought he looked to be about thirty, with lighter brown hair than Xander's own and blue eyes. He seemed surprised and slightly nervous when he realized Spike had company. Spike went to the kitchen to fetch his guest a beer, calling over his shoulder as he opened the fridge, "Xander Harris, this is Doyle."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

"Xander Harris, this is Doyle."

Xander stood to shake Doyle's hand, noting that the other man seemed reluctant to touch him. Doyle's palm was slightly damp as it pressed against Xander's for a brief moment, and Doyle barely met his gaze, choosing instead to watch Spike with an intense and restless desperation that surprised Xander. _What is with this guy?_

"Just Doyle?" Xander asked, sitting back down on the couch.

"Yeah, just Doyle," Spike answered from the kitchen. He reappeared with three beers and sank back down on the couch next to Xander. "Have a seat, mate." Spike directed Doyle to the empty armchair.

Doyle sat, taking off his jacket and folding it across the back of the chair. Xander immediately noticed the black ink that colored Doyle's tanned skin. His arms were covered in tattoos, tribal markings that told in flesh a kind of narrative, both lyrical and strange. _Those tattoos look so familiar. I swear I've seen them somewhere before. Maybe in Africa?_

"How do you know each other?" Xander asked politely.

"Doyle here's my connection to the Powers That Be. They send him visions, and I play the hero. Rescue the damsels in distress. That sorta thing. So, what's on for tonight?"

Doyle looked back and forth between Spike and Xander, something hard and calculating and almost feral in his eyes. Xander felt his interest in the man rapidly turning to suspicion. _I don't like the way he's looking at Spike, like he's some kind of . . . like he's the only Siamese at a game of kitten poker._

Doyle began, "I've had another vision. The Powers want you to intercept Cor— "

Xander interrupted him, concerned. "Are you sure you're up to this, Spike? You did just have both your hands sewn back on."

Spike chuckled and slapped him on the back, the sort of friendly tap guys give each other all the time, the sort of touch Xander had felt too rarely in his life. He hadn't had many guy friends in Sunnydale, and the few he'd had weren't really the backslapping sort. Oz was a self-contained unit, as reserved with his touch as his words. Riley might've high-fived his Army buddies, but was never very open with Xander. Xander thought maybe Riley's wariness of civilians was to blame for his aloofness. He and Andrew usually had at least a continent in between them, Angel had never been his friend, Giles was more like a father, and Jesse . . . Well, Xander didn't want to think about Jesse just now. Not when this simple gesture from Spike made him feel less alone than he had in a long time.

"No worries, Harris. I'll be alright. Especially with an original Slayerette watching my back."

Xander couldn't help the huge grin on his face. _He wants me to come along! Spike is asking me to patrol with him for old-time's sake. I feel a tiny yay coming on. Should I be this excited over potential carnage and mayhem?_

Doyle flinched and gulped his beer. "Slayerette? What do you mean?"

Spike lit another cigarette and blew a fat smoke ring towards the ceiling. "Harris palled around with the Slayer for years before Sunnydale went under. Even saved the world a couple times, so the story goes." Spike sent another smoke ring, this one thin and wispy, through the first.

Doyle's knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of the chair. "Well, then. He should be a big help on this mission. The Powers want you to intercept . . . cars. I mean, there's a nest of vamps under a car dealership a few blocks from here. Huge bloodbath planned for tomorrow if you guys don't stop it." Doyle stood abruptly, shrugging into his jacket and heading for the door.

"Bye," Xander called out to the closing door. "Spike, that was weird. Something is seriously off about that guy."

"Who? Doyle? Nah. He's just twitchy. Nothing to worry about."

_Yeah, right. My Scooby senses are tingling off the charts. Doyle was gonna say something else before Spike told him I know the Slayer. That was the worst backtrack I've heard in a long time. I guess we'll find out what's up soon enough._

"Spike, on the way, let me tell you a little story about Angel and Darla . . ."

 

~ ~ ~

Seven minutes into the battle with the car dealership vamps, and the back of Xander's head was intimately acquainted with the bumper of an SUV. From his position on the ground, Xander shoved his stake through a vampire's heart. He groaned and stood shakily. "I think I prefer smacking myself on headstones."

Across the lot, Xander could see Spike toying with the last two vamps. Spike moved with animal grace, leaping lithely on top of cars and back down again, duster rippling around him like a black cloud. Xander jogged across the pavement and leaned against a nearby mini-van, absently brushing vamp dust from his clothes as he watched. With a manic grin, Spike dispatched the stragglers and joined Xander.

"You alright, Harris? I saw you knock your head on that Navigator back there."

"I'm fine. I'm used to knocking into things by now." But Spike's hands were gently touching him anyway, one pressing lightly into the back of his head, the other cupping his jaw for stability. Spike's hand was cool against his face, his thumb resting softly on Xander's cheekbone, the other fingers curled around the back of his neck. Xander shivered slightly as Spike's fingertips probed the wound on his skull. A slow warmth radiated through Xander's body, flushing the skin where Spike held him. Xander's eye locked with eyes darkened by adrenaline and something else—something primal and unidentifiable. Xander shivered again under Spike's touch, his heart racing. Abruptly, Spike released him and plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his duster.

_What the hell was that? I think I wanted Spike to . . . I don't know. Something. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought._

"That knot's nothing serious. You'll be right as rain in a day or two. You oughta take it easy, though. Where are you staying?"

Xander swallowed and forced himself not to caress the spot on his cheek where he could still feel Spike's thumb resting. "Not far from here, actually."

"I'll walk you, then," Spike said.

The two walked in silence for a couple blocks until Xander cleared his throat. "Spike, part of the reason I came to L.A. was to offer you somewhere to bunk down. If you want it. You don't have to stay here. You could come back to Africa with me. And before you freak out, I didn't tell anybody else you were alive. Andrew said you didn't want us to know. But without asking, I know Wills and Kennedy would love to have you in Rio, Andrew'd probably cream his pants if you came to London, and Dawn . . . Well, Dawnie's really missed you. You're always wanted wherever she is." _Please don't call me on not mentioning Buffy. I'm not ready to have the "she's so completely moved on it's not even funny" conversation, yet._

Spike stopped and put a hand on Xander's arm. "You really came all this way to offer me a place to stay?" Spike had that same cartoonish look of shock on his face from earlier in the night. Xander nodded. "It's not another basement, is it?"

Xander laughed. "No. More like a tent. But Willow or Dawn could probably hook you up with another Basement of Doom if you're really jonesing for spiders and mold."

Spike smiled, a little shyly. "I . . . I don't know what to say, Xander. That means a lot to me. I'll give it some thought."

"Hey, no rush. I'm here on the Council's dime. Take all the time you need." From where he stood, Xander could see his hotel a block up the street. "Do you wanna have a drink on the corporate card? You're welcome to come up."

"Nah. Think I'll go pester Peaches for a while. Tell him I know about Connor."

Xander nodded. "Go easy on him, Spike. He's really torn up about it."

"Yeah. S'pose he would be."

"Goodnight, Spike."

"Night, Harris."

Xander watched Spike stalk away, finally allowing his fingers to trail over the smooth plane of face Spike's fingers had touched so gently.

~ ~ ~

Xander unlaced his boots and stretched out on the hotel bed. He hit redial on his cell phone and waited for Andrew to pick up.

"Hey, Xander! How goes it, _mi amigo_? Tell me everything."

"Where to start? Okay, the memory mojo—long story short, Angel has a son, and he doesn't want anyone to know. But that's a conversation for a night when I don't already have a splitting headache. What else? Cordelia is dead, or about to die. I'm not sure which. She's ascending to a higher plane to serve the Powers That Be. But she woke up and told me goodbye. I'm glad I got to see her one last time."

"I'm so sorry, Xan. I know what she meant to you. I didn't really know her. She only talked to me a couple times in high school. Once to tell me my fly was unzipped _after_ my science presentation was finished, and another time, during Earth Week, she told me and Jonathon we should go ahead and die to conserve oxygen for the deserving."

Xander shook his head ruefully. "Ouch. That sounds like Queen C, alright." Xander pressed the bridge of his nose tightly. He wasn't going to start crying, not now. "Listen, Andrew, can you tell the rest of the gang about Cordy for me? I can't talk to Willow right now. Spike still doesn't want the others to know he's alive, and she'd drag it out of me in thirty seconds flat. She always knows when I'm keeping secrets."

"Sure thing, Xander. Speaking of Spike, have you seen him, yet?"

"Yeah. I think he might actually come back with me. He said he'd think about it. But I haven't even gotten to the weirdest part of the trip so far, Andrew."

"Dare I even ask?"

Xander rolled over onto his stomach. "Get this. Anya sent me a note through Cordy. Basically, it says that I'm destined to fall in love again and that she's okay with it. Then the note sends me to this bar. Where I meet this guy. Who I later have 'a moment' with. I didn't put two and two together at the time but, now that I've had a little time to think about it, Anya's not exactly known for her subtlety. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean 'a moment'? I want all the details."

Xander grinned. "They're not very juicy. Nothing really happened. He just touched my face, and I got all hormony and tingly. No guy has ever made me feel that way before. What do you think it means, Andrew? Maybe I'm gay?"

"Not necessarily, Xander. You could be bi, or maybe it's just this one guy that does it for you, not guys in general."

"Well, how do I know?" Xander knew he sounded a tad frantic, but he also knew Andrew would understand. Andrew had struggled with his sexuality all throughout high school, only officially coming out in the last year.

"Calm down, Xander." He could hear the understanding and a touch of amusement in Andrew's voice. "Here's a gayness quiz courtesy of Dawn's _Cosmo_. It says, 'Try imagining another guy, not the one you're crushing on, naked.'"

Xander rolled his eye. "Cause _Cosmo_'s so scientifically accurate."

Andrew giggled. "Just do it, Xander."

Xander sighed. "Okay. Fine." In his mind, a picture began to form. A very naked man, one foot propped up on a stack of books, glasses dangling saucily from his left hand. Xander shook his head. "Oh, god. My eye. Giles butt-naked in the library is so not an image I want in my brain."

Andrew could barely speak through his laughter. "I tell you to imagine a guy naked, and you go with Giles? Maybe you're not only gay but into the geriatric set. Jeez, Xander. I'm insulted. At least I'm a little more your age bracket."

"Ha ha. Laugh it up. No offense, but I'm not imagining you naked either, Andrew. One bare-assed Watcher is quite enough for me, thanks."

"Okay, then. Imagine Spike naked."

"Kinda defeats the purpose of the exercise."

Xander moved the phone away from his ear at Andrew's piercing squeal. "I knew it! He's ensnared you with his Viggo Mortensen pectorals. Listen, Xander, crushing on Spike doesn't make you gay. Everything with a functioning sex drive wants Spike; he's his own sexual orientation." Andrew paused. "All joking aside, what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. Totally disregarding the whole he's a guy thing, there's so much history between us. Not to mention that it feels weird to even think about loving somebody besides Anya. It's just really hard, like impossible, to imagine me and Spike together."

"Speak for yourself."

"Have a little self-control, Andrew. I mean together in the happily ever after, ultimate destiny kinda way. Does Dawn's _Cosmo_ have any advice for deciphering messages from beyond the grave?"

"I'll check."

Unexpectedly, something clicked in Xander's memory. _Dawn! That's it. I know where I've seen those tattoos._

"Andrew, I gotta go. I just remembered I have to do something important. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Alright. Later, Xander."

"Bye."

Xander fished under the bed for his shoes, muttering to himself. "Gotta find Spike and tell him about Doyle."

"Tell him what about me?" Xander froze. Doyle walked out of the bathroom holding a wooden box. Before Xander could gather his wits, something blue and slimy was flying from the box and attaching itself to his chest with a moist sucking sound.

"Oh, shit. Figures," Xander whispered before everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander opened his eye. Spike was sitting in the desk chair by the hotel room window, Anya writhing in his lap. She faced Xander, smiling a nasty little smile as Spike's hands drove her hips up and down, up and down, over and over again.

"What did you think, Xander? That I'd want you to be happy? That I'd let you find love? Think again." She moaned as Spike's hand slipped under her blouse. Spike smirked at him, then kissed the back of Anya's neck. "I only want vengeance for what you did, Xander. I hope this is what you see every time you close your eyes."

Xander tried to stand but found that his arms and legs were bound to the bed. He struggled against the ropes until a familiar voice shocked him into silence.

"Xander, hey. You're not looking so good, buddy." Jesse leaned down over Xander's body, an over-sized stake in his hand. "I figure, you did me once. Might as well return the favor."

Jesse pushed the stake slowly into Xander's chest. Xander could see a crimson bloom spreading on his shirt around the piece of wood. Jesse dragged a finger through the sticky wetness and put it to his lips. "You taste better than I imagined, Xander."

Suddenly, Jesse exploded into thousands of dust particles that caught the light and flashed prisms before they fell onto Xander's body. Through the whirling motes, Xander could see Buffy in all her Slayer glory.

"Buffy! Am I glad to see you! Untie me."

"Untie you, Xander?" Buffy cut her eyes to where Anya and Spike were still gasping and squirming against each other in the desk chair. "I think I'd rather join them."

Buffy panthered across the room, shedding clothes along the way. She knelt before Anya, bringing the other woman's head down for a searing kiss. "Did you think this was for you, Xander? Did you think he'd really want to touch the Zeppo, the donut boy?" Buffy said the words over her shoulder as she unbuttoned Anya's blouse. "Did you think he'd moan like this for you, Xander? Did _Anya_ ever moan like this for you?" Buffy laughed, a harsh grating sound that hurt him more than the stake in his chest.

Then Spike spoke. "Nobody wants you , Harris. Nobody. Everyone you love ends up dead. Isn't that right, Xander? Xander . . . Xander. . . Xander!"

Xander closed his eye against a wave of nausea as someone pulled the stake from his chest with a phlegmy slurp. When he opened it again, a blue smear was oozing down the bedside wall and Spike was shaking him, calling his name.

"Xander! Xander! C'mon. Wake up, pet. That's it. Wake up for Spike."

Xander did a quick once-over of the room. The desk chair was empty, and no one lurked in the shadows. His chest was whole, completely unblemished except for the aqua stain on his polo shirt. Xander sat up and croaked out through parched lips, "Spike, what happened?"

Spike poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and answered, "Somebody put a nasty little demon bugger on you. Seems to be going around these days. Angel ended up with one stuck to him not too long ago. The demon gives you horrible dreams and hallucinations before it kills you."

_So, I was dreaming, then? It seemed so real. Everything seemed so real. I can still hear Buffy saying . . . those things to me. And what gets me the most is psycho-dream Buff is right. Why would Spike want me, Xander Harris, the one-eyed donut boy? This is so fucked up. And I'm not even gonna think about that parting shot—everyone I love ends up dead._

Spike was looking at him curiously, so Xander forced his wandering mind back to attention and said, "Thank god you found me. How did you know I was in trouble?"

"I was almost home when Fred called my mobile. Seems vision girl woke up and the whole gang's having a to-do at Caritas tonight in her honor. I tried to ring you to see if you wanted to go with, but the line was busy. So I walked back over. I could hear your heart jack-hammering all the way down in the lobby."

Xander frowned. "How'd you get in, though?"

"You gave me an invite out in the street, mate, and the door was unlocked."

"Oh, right. Listen, Spike, I know who put the demon on me. It was Doyle." Xander put up a hand to stave off Spike's protests. "Spike, I've seen his tattoos before. I didn't realize where, though, until I got back here. When Glory was looking for the Key, Giles wanted to use those tattoos to hide Dawnie. They're a powerful protection spell that keeps whatever's marked from being seen by higher powers, mystical beings, that kinda thing."

"How come I never heard about any of this?" Spike interrupted.

"Well, for one thing, we never used the tattoos. Since Dawn is technically a higher power herself, using the spell would've made some kinda freaky paradox—she can't hide from herself, or something like that. Willow put it in _Star Trek_ terms once for me. Using the tattoos on Dawn would cause a sort of rip in the space-time continuum. Plus, you weren't exactly anybody's favorite vamp, until you let Glory pound on you instead of ratting out Dawn. Anyway, by the time we trusted you, the tattoos were a moot point."

Spike looked at the blue stain on the wall and narrowed his eyes predatorily. "So, Doyle's hiding from somebody?"

Xander released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, relieved that Spike believed him. "Yeah. And he's willing to kill me, and Angel too, apparently, to stay hidden."

"That bastard's done using me, and I won't forget that he hurt you, Harris. Lost too many people in that sodding hole in the ground to start losing you now. I guess we better head to Caritas and get the team working on it."

Xander opened the closet door and rummaged for a clean shirt, hoping he could hide the deep flush Spike's words brought to his cheeks. _Well, he doesn't want me dead. That's gotta mean something._ He pulled an olive green polo shirt, one of the new ones Cordy had bought him, over his head. "Okay. I'll fill you in on the Cordelia situation in the cab."

~ ~ ~

Xander trailed behind Spike as they crossed the crowded club, finally stopping at a table near the bar. A black man was laughing and clinking glasses with the young woman sitting next to him, while a bright green demon poured a grinning Wesley another drink.

_They look so happy. I can't tell them about Cordy. Damn it, I'm tired of watching people hurt, tired of every-fucking-body dying._

Spike seemed uncharacteristically subdued, and Xander could tell that he didn't intend to be the bearer of bad news either. He'd grown quiet in the cab after Xander had told him Cordy was moving on soon. Spike had sighed and said, "Fred sounded so bloody excited on the phone. Damn it." Then he'd smoked cigarette after cigarette, growling at the driver when he pointed to the No-Smoking sign pasted on the partition.

The young woman at the table noticed their approach and got up to greet them, giving Spike a big hug. "Spike, you came! You even beat Angel and Cordelia. Who's your friend?"

_I guess he's not quite as unwanted here as Andrew thought._

Spike smiled, a genuine smile that momentarily dispelled the weariness in his eyes. "Fred, this is Xander, an old friend from Sunnydale. Xander, this is Fred. She's the brains of Angel's little group."

Fred smiled back and then surprised Xander by pulling him into a quick hug as well. "Nice to meet you, Xander. Any friend of Spike's a friend of mine." She paused and scrunched up her nose in thought. "Maybe I should rephrase that. Any of Spike's friends who don't want to suck me dry are friends of mine. Anyway, let me introduce you to the rest of the gang. Xander, this is Charles Gunn."

The black man reached up to shake Xander's hand. "Call me Gunn, man."

"Okay. Nice to meet you, Gunn." Gunn nodded and poured him a glass of beer from the pitcher on the table.

Fred continued the introductions. "And this emerald wonder is our very own Lorne. He owns Caritas."

Lorne gave him an appraising look and offered Xander his hand. "Hello, handsome. I can see why Spike's been keeping you all to himself, sugar." Xander blushed, and Spike smirked behind the glass of beer he was drinking.

Fred began to introduce Xander to Wesley, but Wesley interrupted her. "Xander and I know each other already, Fred. We met during my time as a Watcher in Sunnydale. How are you, Xander?"

"I'm good. I'm no longer fit to be drafted, but hey, I see that as a perk of surviving the apocalypse."

Xander's quip broke the ice, and he spent the next half hour listening to stories about the past exploits of the Angel Investigations team. When Lorne left the table to speak to one of the waiters, Spike nodded to Xander and the two followed him across the club. They caught up with the green demon at the far end of the bar.

"We need you to do a reading for Xander. Somebody tried to kill him tonight, and I want to know who and why," Spike said.

Xander frowned. "What do you mean, a reading? The last time I did anything involving Tarot Cards, it didn't turn out so well for me."

Lorne waved his hand dismissively. "No, nothing as mundane as that. I can read auras, give people little tidbits of their futures, help them figure out problems. But only when they sing." Lorne looked around the club. "You know, we're full tonight but this place is deader than a Baptist Church on Super Bowl Sunday. Only one person has sung since we opened, and I'd rather obliterate that rendition of "When Doves Cry" from my brain permanently. If you wouldn't mind, sweetie, you could sing on stage. Get the party started, so to speak. Just remember to visualize your mystery man as you sing."

Xander shrugged. "Okay."

Spike looked at Xander like he'd grown a third head. "You're gonna get up on stage and sing?"

"Sure. Why not? What should I sing?"

Lorne tapped the side of his glass with a fuchsia swizzle stick. "I always tell the indecisive to sing their best friend's favorite song. That way someone else is to blame if the performance doesn't go over well."

"Best friend's favorite song, huh? I don't think you're gonna have that on your machine."

"Darling, it's magical karaoke. The machine'll play whatever you want."

Xander climbed onto the stage and waited for the music to begin. Spike was leaning back against the bar next to Lorne, a skeptical look on his face. _Well, that's insulting. He looks like he expects a number from the best of William Hung._

Wesley and Gunn were engrossed in conversation and hadn't even noticed him on the stage, but Fred clapped her hands delightedly and let out a piercing whistle. The entire bar quieted momentarily, and Fred said defensively, "What, people? I'm from Texas."

Xander laughed and started to sing.

"So, I am in the twilight of my youth  
Not that I'm going to remember  
And have you seen the moon tonight is it full?  
Still burning its embers  
The people dancing in the corner,  
They seem happy  
But I am sad  
I am still dancing in the coma  
Of the drinks I just had  
Does anybody want to take me home?  
Does anybody want to take me home?  
Take me to your house,  
And I'll leave you alone  
Of course I will  
Of course I won't  
It seems so tragic . . .  
But it disappears like magic  
Like magic"

During the bridge between verses, Xander realized that he had the attention of the whole bar. An orange scaled beast at the table closest to the stage appeared to be singing along under its breath in between shots of something that looked like spoiled milk. A group of tiny purple creatures were gazing at the stage in fascination, pausing from time to time to make notations on a coaster. Lorne had turned his back to the stage to talk to the bartender, but Fred was grinning from ear to ear, and even Spike wore a tiny half-smile on his face as he absently tapped his fingers on his glass in time to the music.

"Can you recommend an education or drugs  
Because I am bored with you already  
I'm on Broadway, and I think it's a parade  
I'm covered in pieces of confetti  
And I am in the twilight of my youth  
Not that I'm going to remember  
Dancing and slowly and finding the truth  
And it's covered in coma  
All of these people in my life, well they seem so in love  
Well, I am not  
Memorizing my shoes in a cigarette shop  
Does anybody want to take me home?  
Does anybody want to take me home?  
I'm kinda lonely, will you take me home?  
Of course you will  
Of course you won't  
Of course I'm crass  
It seems so tragic  
Of course you will  
Of course you won't  
But I'll disappear  
I'll disappear  
Just like magic" *

When Xander finished, the applause was deafening. He jogged over to the bar, grinning, and waited for his reading. Lorne was still standing with his back to the stage, and when he turned Xander thought his eyes looked brighter, as if he'd been crying. But then Lorne smiled and teased him like before—"Xander, you should be careful singing a song like that—somebody might take you up on it. Those Gelfar demons at table nine seem to be debating what kind of bride price you'd bring on the Nesltigian market"—so Xander was sure he must be mistaken.

Spike snorted. "Lovely. Always the demon magnet, Harris. Anyway, that's Red's favorite song? I expected some uber-feminist rock anthem."

"It's not Willow's favorite song, Spike. It's Andrew's." _And, huh? When did that happen? When did Willow move from best-friend slot to oldest-friend slot? I guess when I realized the only thing we can ever find to talk about, when we do talk, is the past._

Spike raised his eyebrow at Xander, but didn't pry. "That's Andrew's favorite song? I would've pegged him for a boy-band lover."

Xander smiled. "Andrew really likes depressing songs. Anyway, it was either sing that or sing the theme song to the original _Star Trek_, which, by the way, does have lyrics and not just the alien wailing in the background."

Lorne put his glass down on the bar and interrupted. "Kiddies, as amusing as I find this conversation, we've got bigger things to worry about. The man who tried to kill you, Xander, the one who calls himself Doyle, is really a guy named Lindsey. He worked for a while as a lawyer for Wolfram and Hart, and he and Angel hate each other. We need to marshal the troops, boys; this could get ugly."

Spike went to tell the others, grumbling under his breath, "I knew this was Peaches' fault. I knew it." Xander would've followed, but Lorne held him back.

"Xander, when you were singing I could hear these words running around in that brain of yours—Zeppo, donut boy. I don't know exactly what they mean to you, but I can tell you that you're wrong. Don't hide behind the past because you're afraid of the future. You get to have something special, Xander. I saw it. Something rare and beautiful. Don't let it get away." Lorne looked meaningfully at Spike, as the vampire gathered Angel's gang around him.

Before Xander could ask Lorne any questions, everyone was leaving the bar, headed for Wolfram and Hart. _I'm sorry, Spike. I can't help it. I am afraid._

 

* "Anybody Wanna Take Me Home" by Ryan Adams on the album _Love is Hell_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Wesley opened the door to Angel's office, everyone in a tight group close behind him. Gunn was still ribbing Xander about his demonic suitors back at the bar, and Fred was slightly drunk and hanging on Wesley's arm. Lorne seemed a bit distracted but smiled at Gunn's teasing and off-handedly flirted with Spike as they all piled into the room.

Angel stood with his back to the door, one hand resting flat against the glass of the window. He made a soft noise, something deep in his chest like a laugh choked off, and Xander realized he was crying. Xander had never seen Angel cry, and he didn't think he wanted to now. He'd seen Spike cry before, and it was loud and messy and blotchy and angry, but Xander had always thought that if Angel ever cried it would be an event both silent and epic, something stoic and slow like the ocean lapping away at a glacier. Then Angel turned from the L.A. cityscape, and his eyes were red and his face was wet, like so much rain on pale marble. Angel's bottom lip quivered, and Xander averted his eye. Angel's tears were not subtle as he'd expected. A crying Angel was naked, raw, exposed.

_It's just wrong to see him like this. Like we're trespassing._

In an instant, all the laughter and optimism they'd brought with them from Caritas hit the wall of Angel's grief violently and shattered. Wesley took a half-step forward and stopped. "Angel, what's wrong? Where's Cordelia?"

Beside Xander, Lorne blinked back tears, and Xander realized why Lorne had seemed so affected by his number at Caritas. "You knew, didn't you?" he whispered.

"From the first note, babe." Lorne rubbed his eyes, a single tear escaping his fingers to shine like green glass on his cheek.

Angel turned away again and leaned his forehead against the cool windowpane. "She's dead. The Powers only let her come for a day to deliver a message and now it's done. They don't need her here anymore, and she's dead."

The absolute certainty that Cordelia was gone sat like a stone in Xander's stomach. He was grateful when Spike maneuvered closer and put a hand on his shoulder. Xander leaned back into the contact, the weight of Spike's hand on his body something tangible to focus on, something safer to feel than the sharp edges of Angel's sorrow.

_Somebody really should go to him. He shouldn't be over there by himself._

For a long moment, no one moved. Then Fred stumbled across the carpet, catching her hip painfully on the back of a chair in the process. She winced and touched Angel hesitantly, her hand dwarfed by his broad back. Angel broke into sobs, ragged sounds that hurt Xander to hear. He bent down into Fred's arms, and the others rushed to where they stood, leaving Spike and Xander alone across an expanse of room.

Spike squeezed his shoulder, and Xander turned to face him. Behind them, he could hear Wesley asking Angel questions and Gunn cursing softly under his breath. _I don't want to do this anymore. I just want to go back to Spain and sit on the beach. Drink San Miguel and laze in the sun._ Spike opened his mouth as if he might speak, but instead he took a deep breath and awkwardly pulled Xander into a hug—just the briefest press of Spike's arms around him, the barest instant for Xander to note the way the shorter man's chin nestled perfectly into the crook of his neck. _Maybe Spike could come with me. We'll scrap the beach and go to Madrid instead. Figure out this destiny thing together. Okay, enough crazy talk, Xander. Spike is hugging you 'cause he's your friend and he feels sorry for you. He doesn't even know about Anya's message or that it somehow feels right to be in his arms._

Then Spike released Xander and dug through his pockets for a cigarette, cursing when he found only a half-crushed, empty pack. He dropped the box in Angel's wastebasket and muttered under his breath, " 'There are three things that are never satisfied, yea four things say, It is not enough: The grave; and the barren womb; the earth that is not filled with water; and the fire that saith not, It is enough.'"*

Abruptly the door swung open behind them, and Harmony poked her head in.

"Go away, Harmony. This is private," Angel said in a flat tone, his face hidden behind Fred's hair.

"Okay, but you told me and Deandra Simmons and, like, twenty other people to work late on the Anderson project, and I am not doing it all by myself. If the whole building gets a night off, I'm leaving too."

"What the hell are you talking about, Harmony?" Gunn asked.

"You guys sent out some secret code, and everybody packed their bags and left. I stayed to work on the invoices like I was supposed to. I should get a bonus for overachieving."

Xander looked at Spike. "Lindsey," they both said simultaneously.

"What about Lindsey?" Angel gently pushed away from Fred, his mouth set in a grim line.

"He tried to kill me earlier tonight, and now I think he's infiltrated Wolfram and Hart. He's wearing a protection spell, but Wes can easily break it if he knows where to look," Xander said.

In an instant, Angel's entire demeanor changed. All emotion vanished from his face and he squared his shoulders. When Angel spoke, Xander thought his eyes looked empty, void. "Alright. Fred, Wesley, you work on breaking the protection spell. Harmony, I want to know who sent out that code and what it means. As soon as we find that bastard, Xander, Spike, Gunn—you're with me."

~ ~ ~

_It feels like I'm back on the Hellmouth. I had forgotten how much it sucks to never have time to grieve. We just run from one disaster to the next with barely a moment in between._

Harmony had determined that the code sent out through the building related to some secret scheme Wolfram and Hart had developed to kill Angel. Someone, probably Lindsey, had set the plan in motion, but the team wouldn't know for sure until Wesley completed the counter spell.

Now Xander walked through one of Wolfram and Hart's subterranean corridors, flanked by Spike. In front of them, Gunn and Angel marched silently, Angel brandishing a sword in one hand. According to the blueprints Harmony had shown them, the room that housed the secret death-to-Angel weapon was situated at the end of this hallway. Ahead, the corridor intersected with another, forming a large space with openings on all four sides. As the team passed through this section of the corridor, Xander heard footsteps and looked down the hall to his right.

_Oh, shit! Are those zombies? I hate zombies. They smell like crap, and they're always trying to bite you. At least with a vamp you've only gotta watch out for your neck, but zombies'll gnaw on anything._

"Um…guys? I think we have company."

"I see them, Xander." Angel stopped and dropped into a fighting stance, holding his sword before him.

"There's too many, Angel. It'll take too much time. You and Charley go on ahead. Boy wonder and I will beat back the zombies."

_They ARE zombies. Yay._ Xander automatically turned his back to Spike, trusting the vampire to protect him from attack on that side. He hefted the axe Gunn had given him and started hacking as the first zombie lurched towards him, spraying his face with its fetid spittle. Xander's fighting skills had grown tremendously since the destruction of Sunnydale. When he had requested service in Africa, Giles had insisted that some of the Slayers train him in self-defense tactics. Apparently Africa was full of insurgents and guerilla warfare and dangerous humans that might hurt Xander. Why Giles had never expressed this sort of concern for Xander's well-being when nasties were knocking him around on the Hellmouth, Xander could never quite wrap his brain around.

But the training served him well. Xander was plastered in zombie-drool and zombie-blood and various other zombie fluids that he'd really rather not identify too closely, but none of them had bitten or scratched him. Behind his back, Xander could hear Spike taunting the creatures as he effortlessly sliced through body parts. Zombies weren't particularly challenging foes, but the large number of them funneling into the corridor detained Spike and Xander for longer than Xander would've liked. He could hear what sounded like swordplay from farther down, and he was anxious to rejoin the other half of the team.

When the last zombie toppled unceremoniously to the ground, Xander stopped for a moment to breathe. Spike wiped his hands on his jeans and looked at him, that same feral look he'd had at the car dealership. A look of danger and power mixed with desire; a look that had radiated slow warmth through Xander's body before and did so again now. Xander knew they should hurry; Angel and Gunn might need help. _But what if this is it? If I'm gonna be a zombie-snack, or worse, do I really wanna go out not knowing what might happen? So what if I'm afraid? This is no time to be a wuss._

Before he could argue against himself, Xander crossed the zombie-littered floor and kissed Spike. Spike turned his head at the last second, and Xander caught the corner of Spike's mouth accidentally. For the space of two heartbeats, neither of them moved, Xander's lips just resting softly against Spike, his breath warming Spike's face. Then Spike opened his mouth, and Xander kissed him. Really kissed him, a swirl of tongue against tongue and teeth and the sensitive roof of Spike's mouth. Spike's arm snaked around Xander's waist and pulled him closer, heedless of the gore that covered their clothes. Xander felt little shivers of want run through him and concentrate in those places where Spike's body pressed tightly against him. As the kiss became more urgent, Spike tightened his grip on Xander, his fingers digging sharply into Xander's hipbone. He trembled when Spike broke the kiss to run his tongue up the column of Xander's neck, long wet licks that left him breathless and weak-kneed. Xander breathed a long shuddering sigh, but reluctantly pushed away from Spike and cleared his throat.

"Sounds like Deadboy needs backup."

Spike's eyes were dark and half-lidded with desire. He tucked a strand of hair behind Xander's ear and nodded. A particularly loud crash from down the hall startled them both, and they jogged down the corridor toward the unmistakable sounds of a battle. As they entered the room, the first thing Xander noticed was Angel holding a bare-chested Lindsey tightly around the throat. As he watched, the tattoos lifted off Lindsey's torso and hung in the air above his head, writhing around each other like snakes before dematerializing. Angel tossed Lindsey against the wall, where he crumpled in a heap.

Lindsey struggled to regain his footing, using the wall for leverage. " 'So, what now, huh? Think you got it in you to kill me'?"**

" 'I really don't think I have to'."**

"Hey, Lindsey," Gunn hollered from atop a platform in the center of the room. " 'I think your epidermis is showing'."**

A portal opened in the ceiling and _something_ sucked Lindsey through. It closed with a bright flash of light that left spots dancing before Xander's eye. When the electricity in the air had dissipated, Angel seemed to shrink, fold in on himself somehow. He turned to Xander wearily and asked, "Does that offer to help still stand?"

Xander nodded.

"Good. Lay low for a couple days and then meet me at Caritas. Big surprise. It's the end of the world again."

Angel dropped his sword on the ground and motioned for Gunn to follow him. As they walked back the way they'd come, Xander could hear Angel say, "Cordy told me something really interesting, Gunn. Seems there's a sarcophagus stuck in Customs that you're about to sign through." Gunn said something in reply that Xander couldn't quite make out, and then Xander and Spike were alone.

Xander laughed nervously, the full weight of the implications of that kiss hitting him hard now that the crisis was over. "We both really need baths," he said. _Oh crap, what if he thinks that's a lame come-on? I did just stick my tongue down his throat, after all._

Spike smiled back, a little smile that flickered around his mouth and barely curled his lips. "What was that back there?"

"You mean that kiss?" Xander asked, stating the obvious to stall for time.

Spike rolled his eyes and nodded.

"I don't know. I just . . . wanted to. I've been wanting to pretty much since we cleared out that vamp nest in the car dealership."

Spike took a deep breath. "I don't know what you want from me, Xander. You show up here, offer me a place to live, and then you kiss me like it means something to you. Not that it wasn't a bloody good snog, but . . . Do you still love Anya? "

"Yes. Do you still love Buffy?"

Spike looked at the floor. "Yes."

Xander shrugged. "What do I want, Spike? I wanna stop being so lonely. I wanna be happy. I really think I wanna kiss you again."

 

*Proverbs XXX, 15  
**Taken from Ats episode "You're welcome"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander shrugged. "What do I want, Spike? I wanna stop being so lonely. I wanna be happy. I really think I wanna kiss you again."

Spike smiled, almost shyly. "That's a tall order, Harris, but I think I can help you with that last bit, at least." Spike leaned in towards him, grabbing a handful of Xander's shirt to pull him closer and shuddering when viscous zombie gore squished through his fingers. He eyed Xander as if only then noticing the state of his clothes. "I can't believe I licked your neck before, what with all this shit on you."

Xander looked himself over critically. Blood was drying in the hairs on his forearms, tugging at his skin and making it itch. His shirt had lifted away from his chest with a sickening wet sound under Spike's fingers and fallen again, heavy and cool, when Spike released him. _So glad Cordy's not gonna be getting that credit card bill. I can't believe this shirt didn't even last a day. Guess Michael Kors really isn't the best choice for Scooby apparel._ Spike looked even worse. Smears of something green and white ran down both legs of his pants and flaked off in large slivers when he shifted his weight. A severed finger had tangled in the laces of his Doc Martens, a grey lozenge of flesh shrouded in black thread.

Xander wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Okay. Minor revision of the plan. I think showers are the first order of business. Cleanliness before horniness, or something like that."

Spike raised his eyebrow and leered, somehow making the streak of blood just under his left cheekbone seem sexy, an observation that only slightly disturbed Xander. He blushed. "Look, Spike, I know we have to talk about this, but can it wait until we're not shellacked in zombie innards?"

Spike nodded as he brushed clumps of hardening brain matter from his shirt. "Fair enough. But can we go back to your hotel, Harris?"

"Ummm…yeah. Sure. But why? Your place is bigger."

"I don't feel right about that flat anymore. It's just another bloody trick Lindsey used to get to me. I can't believe I've been that git's puppet all this time." Spike didn't look at Xander, just kept picking at his clothes, then his nails, turning his hands over and over. "Told me I was a hero, same as Angel. Better than Angel, even." Spike glanced up at Xander briefly before looking down again. "Can't tell myself that lie anymore."

_I don't know what to say. There isn't really anything to say; nothing Spike'll believe, anyway._

Spike bent down and gently tugged at the digit tangled in his laces; the finger refused to budge, and with a noise of frustration, Spike ripped it free, the tatters of his shoelaces trailing out on either side of his boot. Behind them, the containment cage for Wolfram and Hart's secret weapon finally rested flush with the floor, completely closing with a metallic thud that reverberated down the long corridor.

~ ~ ~

Xander sat at the foot of the hotel bed and rubbed his damp hair with a thick, white towel. Over the low drone of the television, he could hear Spike singing in the shower. _Aaah, the Vaselines. I haven't heard "Monster Pussy" since Sunnydale. Spike was singing that in Buffy's shower the day before I lost my eye._

They'd stopped at Spike's apartment for clothes and a carton of cigarettes and ended up hauling the Playstation, Spike's small collection of video games, two bottles of Glenlivet, some packets of blood and half a dozen CDs back to the hotel room. Spike had set up the Playstation while Xander was in the shower, and the rest of Spike's things were scattered around the room in random piles.

Spike came out of Xander's bathroom clad only in a pair of jeans, his hair a wild, wet corona around his head. He sat behind Xander and leaned back against the taupe wall, slouching down a little to clear the Van Gogh print centered above the bed. The morning sun was just beginning to send cold, grey light through the slats of the blinds, so Xander got up and drew heavy drapes across the window. He came back to the bed and sat down beside Spike.

Spike held the copy of _Lady Audley's Secret_ Xander had left on the nightstand; it fell open automatically in his hands: _I've had my wound, Bob; I carry the bullet still, and I shall carry it into my coffin._* Spike touched the underlined words lightly, then paged through the novel, stopping here and there to read Xander's marginalia—a word defined, a "yay," a "sneaky bitch!!!!!" or two in cramped script.

"Well, this is new. Didn't peg you for a closet Victorian novel lover, Harris."

"I started reading them in Africa. Andrew sent me a box with all kinds of books in it, but when I read _A Tale of Two Cities_ I was hooked. I was supposed to read that senior year," Xander admitted, "but it kinda seemed less important than, oh say, not being strangled to death by Faith. 'Course, if I'd realized the best _Star Trek_ speech ever comes from that book, I might've paid more attention."

Spike closed his eyes. "'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.'** Last thing I remember thinking before everything went up in flames."

Xander hesitated, then asked the question that had popped into his mind. "Do you regret coming back? I know Buffy didn't want to come back from her rest."

Spike opened his eyes, deep blue eyes like a storm-darkened sky, and looked at Xander. "I don't know where I went, but it wasn't to any kinda rest. I don't think my lot get to have that, Harris. My money's on hellfire and brimstone." Xander started to protest, and Spike cut him off. "Yeah, I know. I saved the damn world. Big fucking whoop. And to answer your question, I did regret it at first. Been regretting it less since you showed up in town."

Xander couldn't help but smile at Spike's words. He took _Lady Audley's Secret_ from him and placed it on the other bedside table next to the clock. "I guess it's time for that talk now, huh?"

Spike cocked his head to the side and took a deep breath before answering. "You know what, Xander, I don't think so. You wanted to kiss me, and you did. I wanted to kiss you back, and I did. I know it's not simple as all that, but it's been more than twenty-four hours since either of us slept. I think 'the talk' can keep 'til morning . . . er. . . night. Whatever."

Xander felt some of the tension in his body dissipate. _Oh, thank god. This gives me a little more time to figure out what the hell I think about all this before I try and explain it to Spike._

Lost in his own thoughts, Xander almost missed Spike's next comment. "But before we crash, I seem to recall owing you a kiss."

Xander's heart started racing, and he barely remembered to breathe. When they'd kissed earlier, lives had been in mortal danger, and they'd both been filled with the manic energy of battle. But here, on Xander's bed, Spike's blue eyes fixed on his single brown one, his fingers reaching out to gently cup Xander's face—this was deliberate. Premeditated, even. _And what that means, hell if I know_, Xander had time to think before Spike's lips were brushing against his own. Unlike their previous kiss, this one was slow and tender, and by the time Spike pulled away they both were flushed and trembling.

When Spike finally spoke again, his voice was gruff and low. "And now, Harris, we'd better get to sleep. Another kiss like that, and this is liable to go a lot farther than you bargained for. I'll not be accused of sullying your virtue."

Xander snorted. "How chivalrous of you, Spike." Spike just grinned at him and turned down his side of the bed. Xander did the same and climbed in between cool sheets.

"You sleep in that thing, Harris?" Spike gestured towards Xander's patch.

"No. Not usually. I just thought . . . I mean. . . "

With gentle fingers, Spike lifted the patch from Xander's face and tossed it onto the nightstand. Wordlessly, he softly traced the outline of Xander's ruined eye and placed a chaste kiss on Xander's temple. Then, Spike turned off the lamp and pulled the covers up over them both.   
~ ~ ~

Xander balanced the Styrofoam boxes of takeout in one arm and slid his keycard into the slot on the door. "Hey, Spike. Wake up! I got Indian food—curry and butter chicken and rice with these thingies . . ." Xander's voice trailed off when he saw Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a lavender piece of paper in one hand and a matchbook in the other. _Oh, shit. Anya's letter._

Spike looked up from the letter, his eyes narrow, his lips pressed tightly together. "What the hell is this? Were you ever gonna tell me Anya has us practically married? Is that why you offered me a place to stay? Why you're being so damn nice to me? Cause the fucking PTB told you to? I've had about enough of those wankers screwing around with my life! Thought you'd give me a little test drive, did ya, see if you could stomach being shackled for life to the Big Bad?" Spike's anger was palpable, his words raw and cutting, laying Xander open.

Xander set the takeout on top of the television, his hands shaking slightly. "No. NO! It wasn't anything like that, I swear. I didn't even realize Anya meant you until that patrol at the car dealership. I wasn't just using you, Spike. I wasn't! I was just so . . . I just wanted to know . . ." Xander ran a finger under his patch; the strap suddenly felt too tight on a face hot and flushed.

"I knew something was off about this. Makes it easy to switch teams when you've got a decree from on high, doesn't it? Dammit, Xander, it's not fair when you're the only one with the inside information."

Xander sat in the desk chair across the room and bowed his head. "I guess not."

Spike's face changed, softened. "Anya's got me pegged for your destiny, your god-damned one-true-love. Can you imagine, Harris? William the Bloody as Prince Charming to the White Knight? I can't do that again. I tried it already and, much as I loved Buffy, I knew it would never work. I'm not that daft. She's too good for me, and you're made of the same stuff, Harris—life and sunshine and hope. We're like oil and water."

Xander shook his head. "I'm not Buffy, Spike."

"No, you're not. You're actually my friend now, something she never was until it was too late. In case you hadn't noticed, Harris, I don't really have many friends. I don't want to fuck that up."

Xander swallowed miserably. "I don't either."

"So what do we do now?"

Before Xander could answer, the hotel phone rang, startling them both. Xander lifted the ivory receiver from its cradle, listened for a moment, and handed it to Spike. "It's Angel," he said.

Spike took the phone and nodded at something Angel said, a wasted gesture that Angel couldn't see. "Right. I'm on my way." Spike hung up the phone and shrugged on his duster.

"What was that? Do I even wanna know?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. Just a piece of Angel's past coming back to bite him in the ass. Someone he turned during the Second World War made a show tonight. Left Peaches in a bit of a mess."

Xander watched him shove a pack of cigarettes into his pocket and search through the piles of his belongings for his lighter. "How will you get there? It's still light outside."

"Angel's sending a car."

Spike found the lighter under a Dead Milkmen CD and pocketed it, along with one of the bottles of Glenlivet. He crossed the room and stopped with his hand on the door, his back to Xander. "Angel wants you to be there tomorrow at Caritas after sunset." Then he left, shutting the door carefully and quietly behind him.

~ ~ ~

Xander lay on the hotel bed, the sunset turning LA red as blood through the curtains he'd opened to watch Spike dart from the hotel lobby to a black limousine. He turned on the clock radio, suddenly unable to bear the silence in the room.

"If the walls in the room could talk  
I wonder to myself, would they laugh?  
It's like some kind of jail  
Beams of light  
Fall through the curtains onto the bed  
I'm all alone now; I can do as I please  
I don't feel like doing much of anything  
True love ain't that hard to find  
Not that you will ever know  
Would you leave for awhile?  
Please do not let me go  
Please do not let me go"***

_Oh, great_, Xander thought. _What is it? Suicidal depression hour on the college radio station?_ But he made no move to change the music and instead burrowed back under the covers, yanking them over his head.

_This is completely hopeless. Anya must've gotten her wires crossed on this one. Wouldn't be the first time. Me and Spike? It'll never fucking work._

But Xander could remember waking up with a leg draped across Spike's thigh, one arm thrown carelessly across Spike's stomach. He'd slept for nine hours straight, the first night of dreamless sleep he'd had in months. Xander had woken up hungry, and he'd carefully slid out from under the covers, hoping not to disturb Spike. Before he left the hotel room, Xander had put his eye patch on, the strap resting snugly against the place where Spike had kissed him.

_If me and Spike is such a shitty idea, then why does it hurt so much that he just left?_

Xander turned on his side, the tinny music of the clock radio slightly muffled by the thick blanket over his head.

"You were sweet enough to sing  
Oblivious to melody  
Red suitcase full of clothes  
Washed up on a shore of memories  
I'm all alone now, and I feel just fine  
I don't feel much like doing anything  
True love ain't that hard to find  
Not that either one of us will ever know  
Would you lay here for awhile?  
Please do not let me go  
Please do not let me go" ***

 

*_Lady Audley's Secret_ by Mary Elizabeth Braddon  
**_A Tale of Two Cities_ by Dickens; concluding lines  
*** "Please Do Not Let Me Go" by Ryan Adams on the album _Love is Hell_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander opened a bleary eye and poked his head out of the covers. His cell phone had been ringing for the past two minutes straight, little metallic chirps that hurt his head. Somewhere around two in the morning, he had decided that anything Spike had left behind was fair game, including that second bottle of Glenlivet. Ignoring the pounding behind his temples, Xander turned over and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.

_1:30 in the afternoon. I've gotta start sleeping normal hours again soon. I feel like utter shit. Oh, wait. Maybe that's the Iron Chef drinking game you played last night to drown your sorrows, Xander. You really should not have made a "Drink every time the bimbo actress giggles and compares the food to a lotus flower" rule._

Xander checked the caller ID and answered with a weary, "Hello, Andrew."

"Xander, where have you been? I've been trying to get you all morning. You kinda ran off in a hurry last time we talked, and I was starting to get worried about you."

Xander poured himself a lukewarm glass of water from the pitcher of melted ice on the dresser and drank it down in big gulps. "Yeah, well, it's been a rough couple of days. A slug demon gave me near-fatal nightmares of evil!pervy Buffy, Cordy died for real, and I kissed Spike. Twice. Which was great, except for the way he found Anya's letter and accused me of just using him to get my rocks off."

"You didn't tell Spike about Anya's letter?" Andrew sounded shocked.

"No, I didn't tell him! What was I supposed to say? 'My dead ex-fiancée, who slept with you after I dumped her at the altar, has decided you and I should make beautiful love for all eternity?' I was going to tell him; I just needed some time to think of something a little better than that to say."

Andrew sighed. "Did you try to explain?"

"Of course I did. I think he eventually believed me that I wasn't just—his words—taking him for a 'test drive.' But by the time Angel called him away on slayage duty, he'd already moved on to the 'I don't want to ruin our friendship' portion of the gentle letdown."

"Ouch."

Xander rubbed the back of his neck; he'd slept funny, and the muscles there were tense and achy. "I don't even know why I'm so worked up over this. It's not like I ever thought about Spike in that way, ever, until a few days ago. And once he got past the slightly terrifying rage, all Spike's points made sense. Him vampire, me Scooby." _And not Buffy._

"But . . . you are worked up about it. Don't you think that means something, Xander?"

"Yeah. I think it means I'm insane." Xander tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and insincere.

"Be serious." Xander could almost see Andrew putting his hands on his hips and pointing a finger at him.

"Okay. I surrender. No need for the Watcher voice. I think it means . . . Let me put it this way. Anya and Cordy are watching out for me now, and I trust them. I don't think they'd lie to me. Knowing that made me much more willing to give this me-Spike thing a chance. And when we kissed, Andrew, it was . . . well, it was good. Very good. Fireworks kinda good."

"Then, what are you gonna do?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. If the Xander Harris track record is any indication, probably screw things up even worse than they already are. But enough about my drama. How are things across the pond?"

"Fine. I told everybody about Cordy. Willow wanted to call you, but I told her you couldn't be reached by phone. I don't think she bought it, but she didn't call me on it."

"Thanks, man. I really don't think my non-relationship with Spike is the conversation to rekindle our friendship with." Xander refilled his glass of water and took a tiny sip. "What else is going on?"

"There's been a change of scenery for me. I'm in Italy for the next little while until Buffy wipes out this Klexnor demon clan. So, I'm staying with her. Dawn's driving Buffy batshit with this guy she's dating, Paolo. He's all handsy, and I think Buffy's ready to break them."

Xander laughed. "And how's the Buffster doing? Is she still seeing that Immortal dude?"

"Yeah. The Immortal, or Tal as we in the know call him, is seriously gorgeous, Xander. Hair like Jude Law, the eyes of Johnny Depp, the glorious biceps of Josh Holloway. Excuse me while I hyperventilate."

"Oh, god, I must be gay, 'cause I feel a little short of breath myself." They both giggled. "What makes him Immortal, anyway? Is he a vampire?"

"No. I've seen him in the daylight, so it's not that. I don't know what he is. He's super old though. He knows Spike and Angel. Well, Angelus, really. I think there's some bad blood between them."

"Ha. How surprising. Angelus pissed somebody off. You know, Andrew, you're a Watcher now. Unlimited magical resources at your fingertips. Find a way to get rid of that damn happiness clause. I'll die a happy man if I never see Angelus again."

"Duly noted. Speaking of misappropriation of funds, I'm seriously considering commissioning the Council jet so I can see the premier of _Episode 3_ in New York."

Xander snorted. "You know it's all shiny, empty promises don't you, Andrew? It's gonna suck just as hard as the last two. Between 'Little Orphan Anie' and 'Anakin's Creek,' I was ready to murder Lucas. And this will be just as craptastic." Xander gripped the phone more tightly in sudden horror. "Oh, god. Do you think Lucas will make Natalie Portman run again? 'Cause I don't think my stomach can handle it. She looks like a deranged chicken. Seriously. Worst runner ever."

"Don't even get me started on the many, many, many reasons why you are completely wrong, _mi amigo_. Let me just say—Obi Wan/Anakin light saber duel—and leave it at that."

"Whatever, Andrew."

The hotel phone began to ring, and Xander answered it. "Can you hold for a minute?"

He switched to his cell phone with his free hand. "Andrew, let me call you back later. Somebody's on the hotel phone."

Andrew said goodbye, and Xander returned to the ivory receiver of the hotel phone. "Sorry about that. Can I help you?"

"Xander? This is Fred, Angel's friend. He asked me to call you. We've got kind of a situation here, and Angel's cancelling the meeting at Caritas tonight. We'll call you once this is under control."

"Is Sp . . . Is everything okay? Do you guys need help?"

"No. I think we're handling it alright. Thanks, though."

"Okay. I guess I'll see you guys later, then."

Xander hung up the phone. _ I wonder what's going on. I really wish Spike had been the one to call._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

"Xander, it's Spike. Ummmm…..right. I'm at Wolfram and Hart. There's something here you've really gotta see."

Xander put down the phone. He'd accidentally left his cell in the hotel room while he stepped out for Mexican food. Spike had left him that voicemail just minutes before he'd returned. So far, Xander had listened to the message eight times. He thought he detected _something_, some emotion, in Spike's voice, but he wasn't sure just what. The message ended puzzlingly with what could either be interpreted as a horrible coughing fit or the death throes of a strangling man.

Xander shrugged. _Guess I'm going to Wolfram and Hart._

~ ~ ~

As the elevator doors opened on Angel's floor, a group of giggling office personnel headed by Harmony scurried through the lobby.

"Oh, Xander! Hey! I'll catch up with you guys in the break room." Harmony sauntered toward Xander, arms extended, clearly intending to hug him. "We never did get that drink. You should totally come over to my place. I just got a plasma screen TV, and we could watch _The Banger Sisters_ or something."

Xander neatly avoided her hug by bending down to retie his shoe. _She tries to woo me with the aging cleavage of Goldie Hawn? Wow._ "Sorry, Harm. Don't think I'll have time. Council business and all."

"Oh." Harmony's pink lips briefly formed a pout before she was again smiling like an orthodontist's wet dream. "Are you here to make fun of Angel? Please say you're here to make fun of Angel."

"Angel? No. I'm here to see Spike. What's the deal with Angel?"

Harmony just shook her head. "This you gotta see for yourself. Spike's in Angel's office." She walked in the direction her friends had gone, her high heels making little clicks against the linoleum.

_Okaaay…Something seriously weird is going on around here._ A tall, yellow lizard exited an office to Xander's left, all the while gesticulating wildly to a harried-looking lawyer. _And I'm surprised…..why?_

Xander knocked on Angel's door then slowly opened it. Spike slouched in one of Angel's office chairs, talking to someone Xander couldn't see.

"Spike, I got your message. What's going on?"

Spike swiveled around in the chair, a shit-eating grin on his face. He pointed to Angel's desk. "Voila." Xander walked closer for a better look.

"What? Somebody left a cheesy rip-off of the Count from _Sesame Street_ in Angel's chair. That's hardly original. Bonus points for the massive forehead though."

Suddenly, the Count rip-off moved, rubbing its face with its wee, wee hands. And then it spoke, in Angel's voice. "Why do you do this to me, Spike? Why? I've been nicer to you in the past two days than I can remember being the entire twentieth century. But are you grateful? No. You call Xander Harris to come mock me. It's not enough that I had to represent Wolfram and Hart like this at a meeting of all the demon Lords of the Amesukietty clans, no. You have to call everyone I've ever known within driving distance of L.A. to see Angel the Puppet Vampire Freak. If Drusilla walks through that door, I'm making you stake her." Puppet!Angel glared at Spike. Or Xander assumed he was glaring. He was at least looking in Spike's direction and attempting unsuccessfully to furrow his puppet!brow.

Spike grinned. "No worries, mate. Dru's in South America. I did email her a picture, though. God, I love technology."

Xander felt a laugh, the frenzied kind that won't be denied—the kind of laughter that leaves you warm, limp, and slightly phlegmy—bubble up in his chest. "Angel's a puppet!" That was all he could manage to squeak out before the laughter overtook him.

After a long period in which nothing could be heard but Xander's giggles and the drumming of Puppet!Angel's fingers on his desk, Spike stood and took Xander by the elbow. "C'mon, Harris. Can't make too much fun of Angel. Might hurt his widdle puppet!feelings."

Spike navigated a still-laughing Xander down the hall and into an empty office.

Xander wiped tears from his eyes. "Thanks for calling, Spike. That was, well, that was better than my most creative 'something emasculating happens to Angel in front of Buffy' high school fantasies."

Spike looked thoughtful. "Emasculating. Hmmmm……wonder if he's fully functional." A mischievous grin split his face. "Let's go find out."

Xander put out his hand. "Gimme a break, Spike," he pleaded. "I might hurl if I laugh any more."

"I know. This is better than the time Charlie pissed in Angel's chair."

Xander started laughing again, albeit weakly. "Ow, face hurting. Gunn did what now?"

"Never mind. Long story. Anyway, Angel's little predicament isn't the only reason I called you down here."

Xander stopped laughing abruptly and his mouth went dry. "It's not?"

Spike sat in a chair at the conference table and motioned for Xander to do the same. He lit a cigarette and left the empty pack on the table to use as an ashtray. With a nervous smile at Xander, Spike took a drag and started to talk. "Been doing a lot of thinking since I left your room, Harris. Angel wasn't lying when he said he's been good to me lately. Actually found myself talking to him, like it was the old days. Well, like the old days except we both had our clothes on and nobody was bleeding."

_Oh, god. He's about to tell me he hooked back up with Angel. 'Thank you, Xander. Your pitiful crush on me has made me see the light. The Brooding One and I belong together, two souled vampires, fighting evil and having wild monkey sex for all eternity.'_

Xander grimaced. "Let me mention again how much I really don't wanna hear about naked Angel."

"You never have liked him, have you?"

"No. But I never really gave him a chance, either. In high school, he was so mysterious and tortured, and he had all these superpowers and a kick-ass billowy coat. And Buffy. All she saw was Angel. I mean, I wasn't even in Deadboy's shadow. He obliterated me." Xander leaned back in his chair. "But now . . . It's hard for me to feel anything but sorry for him. He's lost so much. Realizing that me and Buffy would've been even more of a disaster than me and Anya helps, too."

Spike snorted. "Took dying, again, for me to get that one through my thick skull." He stubbed out his cigarette and tucked the butt into the empty pack. "When I left the hotel, I was so angry—at you, at Anya, at Lindsey, at the fucking PTB. Somebody's always playing Kick-the-Spike, and I'm tired of all these bloody games. But the old man gave me some good advice. He said, 'Don't be me, Spike. Don't wake up one day and realize the only meaningful thing you'll ever have lying next to you again is empty space.' See, I may be love's bitch, Harris, but I'd rather be a fool than give up entirely."

_Does that mean what I think it means?_

"What are you saying? C'mon, Spike, spell it out for the manual laborer."

Spike took a deep breath, still smiling that little same little nervous smile. "I'm saying, I don't detest you, Xander. Things've been a hell of a lot more interesting since you came to town. And if Anya thinks you and me should," he waved his hands around in the air, "whatever, I'm willing to give it a go. Demon girl always did have a way of cutting through to the heart of matters, didn't she? But let's take things slow, yeah? Don't have to run into anything like it's the sodding end of the world."

Before Xander could answer him, a fully restored Angel opened the office door and poked his head in. "I'm baaack, boys. We're heading out to Caritas. It's time to talk end of the world."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

"So _that's_ the plan? Buffy's charge-down-into-the-Hellmouth-with-a-bunch-of-teenagers-and-hope-Willow-doesn't-go-all-veiny was a better plan than this." Xander stabbed the air with his half-empty Corona for good measure. Sitting next to him, Spike nodded in agreement and clinked his beer bottle with Xander's.

"Xander, it's the end of the world. The Senior Partners have kept us . . . me. . . so busy with all the bullshit of running Wolfram and Hart that I didn't even see Armageddon coming until almost too late. We don't have a whole hell of a lot of time. You got a better plan, lay it on me."

Wesley looked at Angel, who was staring intently at Xander, and Xander, who was absently fingering the strap of his eye patch. "Angel, I don't think Xander is denying the need for action. I think he merely wants to explore all possible avenues before we decide on a plan."

_Heh. That's putting it . . .nicely, Wes. You mean, 'Poor guy's already lost an eye in the last apocalypse; don't blame him if he gets all twitchy on ya.'_ Under the table, where no one could see, Spike's hand kneaded Xander's thigh, then settled, a solid and comforting weight on his leg.

Angel sighed. "Wes, we don't have any options. Any good ones, anyway. Lindsey said . . . ."

"Speaking of which, what do you think happened to the fucker?" Spike interrupted. The question seemed casual, but Xander could tell from the way Spike's fingers dug into his thigh when he said Lindsey's name that Spike was very interested in Angel's answer.

"I know exactly what happened to him. Little perk of running Evil Incorporated. Trust me; Lindsey's not going anywhere."

Spike leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied. He took another beer from the tray Lorne carried over from the bar and smiled at Xander. Xander smiled back and slid his hand under Spike's, lacing their fingers together. _I'm holding hands with William the Bloody under the table like a sixth grader. Woohoo!!_

"Hey, wait a minute." Fred tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "If Lindsey needed those tattoo thingies to hide from the Senior Partners, how come we're doing our apocalypse planning all out in the open?"

Gunn looked at Fred in alarm. "And we're just worrying about that now?"

Lorne waved his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax, people. Relax. I had the lovely ladies who set up the wards for Caritas dose the place up extra special for the evening. The Senior Partners could break the wards if they tried, but it'd take a hell of a lot of mojo to do it, and I'd know."

Angel looked down at his whiskey, at the drops of condensation sliding down the slick glass and pooling at its base. "We don't talk about this again, not without magical protection. Unless we get new information or a better plan, you all know what to do."

Xander's cell phone chose that moment to ring, breaking the tension at the table. _Giles. Crap. Not good timing, G-man._

He walked to the farthest corner of the bar to answer his phone. "Giles, hey! What's shaking?"

"Xander, it's been more than a week since I heard from you last."

"Oh, you know how it is. Just lazing around in the Spanish sun. Guess I lost track of time."

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Xander? Despite Andrew's best attempts to hide the invoice for your plane ticket from me, I know you're in L. A. And now it's time for you to come back to London."

Xander glanced up at the group. Spike and Angel were watching him attentively. _Stupid vampire hearing. Guess there's no point in trying to make this a private conversation._

"Giles, I'm not coming back anytime soon. Something big is going down here, and I'm not just gonna hide in Headquarters while the world goes to shit."

"Xander, I admire the bravado, but Angel and his cohorts cannot be trusted. They've been tainted by their association with Wolfram and Hart."

"His cohorts? They're not wearing Spandex and leaping over tall buildings, Giles. We're talking about Spike. Died to save the world; remember him? Still pissed that you knew he was alive and didn't say anything. And Wesley—granted, he didn't make the best impression in Sunnydale, but he's come a long way since then. And let's not forget the Original Souled Wonder himself. When we had our own little apocalypse to deal with, Angel didn't just tell us to go fuck ourselves."

"Don't be so damn naïve, Xander. Our seers have had visions of what is to come. They've seen Angel do terrible things. I cannot believe I have to explain this to you."

"What did they see?" Xander looked again at Angel. He was staring at his hands, brow furrowed. Spike was smoking furiously and talking softly to Angel in between drags.

"They saw him giving a human child to a clan of demons, among other things."

Xander walked back over to the group. "Lorne, do the wards in here cover phone calls, too?"

"They should. It's some pretty powerful magic."

Xander went back to his cell phone. "Giles, it's part of the plan. Angel's not supplying demons with tasty infant snacks. You're just gonna have to trust me."

"I do trust you, Xander. I just don't trust the rest of them."

Xander sighed. "And that's just insulting, Giles. I've always thought of you as a father. I've stood beside you more times than I can count and done my part to hold back the end of the world. If you were half the man I thought you were, you'd be here, too, with an army of Slayers beside you." Xander turned off his phone, cutting off Giles' reply.

Most of Angel's team seemed oblivious to the discussion. Fred and Wesley were talking softly at the table, laughing and punctuating their conversation with small touches. Gunn watched the two of them talk with something that Xander could only identify as regret on his face. Lorne even seemed to have forgotten Xander's question. Xander could hear him clinking glassware behind the bar and humming to himself. But Angel looked . . . defeated. And Spike looked angry. Very angry.

"Can't believe you stood up to the Watcher like that. Took a lot of courage, Harris. But what I really can't believe is that old fool saying that shite to you. If he can't trust you . . . if he can't trust _me_ after all this time, after everything that happened, everything I did . . ." Spike stood up abruptly. "Outta smokes. I'll be right back." He stalked out of the bar, but not before Xander saw exactly how deeply Giles' distrust had hurt him.

_How could Giles not trust him? I just don't get it. Oh right, the last thing Giles did before we marched down into the Helllmouth was try to kill Spike. Did the man never read Tolkien?_ Xander tried to ignore his growing hostility towards the Watcher and instead touched Angel on the shoulder to get his attention. "Can I talk to you for a second? Away from the others?"

"Sure." Angel followed Xander back over to the far corner of the bar. "What do you want to talk about? Spike? He'll be alright; he's just blowing off some steam."

"I know. That seems to be going pretty well, actually. I never thought I'd be thanking you for interfering in my love life, but thanks. By the way, Spike told me what you said. I know you've got the corner on angst, Angel, but geez. You're not alone, you know."

Angel sighed. "Xander, everyone I love is either dead or letting someone else eat their cookies."

"What?"

"Don't ask. All I mean is that I've pretty much given up on that part of my life."

Xander leaned forward. "It's not only the kind of love that makes you wanna interlock parts that matters, Angel. You've got friends here that care for you, and you're pushing them away."

Angel frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The memory spell."

Angel glanced over at the group across the bar and lowered his voice even further. "Xander, the only thing keeping us all together is that spell."

"Have you ever seen _Star Trek V_?" When Angel looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, Xander hastily added, "This is on topic, I swear." Angel shook his head no. "Okay, in that movie, Spock's half-brother Cybok has the power to take away people's pain. He can get rid of someone's deepest, darkest trauma, but the mojo leaves behind a kinda hollowed-out pod person. When Cybok offers to take away Captain Kirk's pain, Kirk says something like, 'No. Don't take away my pain. I need my pain. It makes me who I am.' Angel, that memory spell is a great big wedge between you and your team. You know; they don't. You're angry and guilty, and they don't have a clue. So you just drift farther and farther apart."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? When's the last time you talked to Willow?"

"Touche. But Willow's not mindfucked into forgetting that I don't call. Do you really want to die without knowing the truth? Without giving your friends a chance to really _be_ your friends again?"

Angel locked eyes with Xander. Xander almost flinched at the raw pain he saw on the other man's face. "But what if I lose them?" Angel whispered.

Just then, the front door swung open and Spike strode back in. "We done here, Peaches? If so, me and Harris are leaving. We've got places to go, people to see."

Xander hid a smile. _And the bossy vampire speaks for us both. One day, perhaps, I will find that annoying, but today is not the day. No, today my inner sheep is happy to follow my almost-boyfriend wherever he may lead._. "Presumptuous, much?" he said aloud.

Xander could feel Angel watching as he and Spike walked out the door.

~ ~ ~

"Wow. This place is cool. When Deadboy decides to do something right, he really delivers."

During their heart-to-heart, Angel had apparently agreed to put Spike up in company digs. As they left Caritas, Spike had invited Xander to stay with him while he was in L. A. "Not like you can use the Council credit card after that little chat with Rupert. We'll swing by the hotel and get your kit, yeah?"

So now Xander was wandering around a living room as big as the entire basement he'd once shared with Spike back in Sunnydale. The apartment was seriously swanky—expensive fabric framing the windows, real art on the walls, the latest in technology everywhere.

"Good thing the place came furnished, huh? Otherwise we'd be sitting on the floor." Xander plopped down on the plush couch. He picked up a notebook that lay on the cushion next to him, then set it back down when he realized the notebook contained Spike's poetry.

"It's okay. You can read it. I mean, if you want to." Spike said the words shyly, as if he were afraid Xander might refuse or make fun of him.

Something melted inside Xander, some part of his heart he'd kept frozen and inaccessible since he'd left Anya at the altar. He took up the notebook and handed it to Spike. "Why don't you read one to me? I really liked listening to you the other night at Finnegan's Wake."

Spike smiled, gloriously, blindingly. If Xander didn't know better, he'd have sworn the vampire was blushing. _Then again, Spike never did fit the mold._

Haltingly at first, then gaining in confidence, Spike began to read. "This one's called 'World War 24.' I wrote it about Dru.

World War 24

Porcelain Doll  
Your mother owns an antique shop  
She takes some stuff  
I take a lot

We sleep all day

Slow response  
I'm feeling like an after thought  
I guess I'm kinda lost in space  
And London's okay

She don't even ask what time it is anymore  
Dressed up like it's World War 24

Sugar sweet  
She loves it when it hits her teeth  
The river hides the carousel  
In London, oh well

Coma comes  
Like bullets from a candy gun  
Delivers us into the sun  
In London my love

She don't even ask what time it is anymore  
Dressed up like it's World War 24

And if we get too high  
We'll burn this town

Oh baby bring me down

I'm all yours  
I'm all yours."*

Spike looked up nervously but expectantly over the edge of the paper.

"That was beautiful, Spike. Terrifying, but beautiful. I can really see you and Dru plotting to burn London to the ground. When was this written?"

"The poem's recent, but it's about the turn of the century, before even the first of the World Wars. Cocaine was all the rage back then. Everybody who was anybody was doing it. Kinda like the '80s, actually. We were in London again, and me and Dru'd holed up in an antique shop. The man who owned that place tasted like cobwebs and mothballs. Barely a drop of blood in that skinflint's body. Anyway, we'd snort obscene amounts of coke, then smoke opium to come down. The only thing I can compare that time to was how wild everybody got after the World Wars. Woulda been more fun if coke didn't make Dru batshit."

"Spike, I don't exactly remember Dru _not_ being batshit."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, but she wasn't suicidal. Coke made her think she could walk in the sun."

Hesitantly, Xander asked, "Do you still love her?"

"Yeah, I still love Dru. I think I always will. But she's a part of my past, not my future. Besides, we're too different now to make it ever work."

Xander nodded. "It's good that you keep in touch, though. And I can't believe I just said that. So what's Dru up to these days?"

"Last I heard, giving what's left of the Initiative hell. I'll be damned if I tell her not to eat those wankers. I did ask her to lay off Finn and his wife. Buffy wouldn't like it if she killed them."

Xander smirked. "Awwww…..going soft in your old age?"

"Not hardly. As far as I'm concerned, Dru can make necklaces out of Finn's entrails. I just don't wanna see the old girl staked."

"Uh huh. Softie."

Spike shot him the bird and turned on the television.

"I should've known. Spike TV."

As the opening music of _Most Extreme Elimination Challenge_ blared, Xander shifted on the couch until his leg was touching Spike's. Spike shifted as well, moving gradually closer to Xander until they were plastered together. Just as Guy le Douche attempted to grab the mud-encrusted breasts of a contestant, Xander turned and kissed Spike, who opened his mouth to let Xander's roving tongue inside. As the kiss deepened, his hands worked their way under Xander's shirt, exploring smooth planes of skin. Xander broke the kiss and looked at Spike, his eyes dark and liquid with desire.

"Spike, I really wanna make out with you. All we've really done is kiss, and that's been amazing, but I'm feeling all gropy and handsy. And I understand if that's not okay. If it's too soon, or whatever, I can wait. I know you said we don't have to rush like it's the end of the world. But it's always the end of the world, and I feel like we're running out of time."

Spike smiled at him so seductively, Xander was sure it must be illegal in forty three states. He didn't speak, just stretched out his hand and led Xander down the hall to his bedroom . . . .

 

*"World War 24" by Ryan Adams on the album _Love is Hell_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Spike opened the door to his bedroom and led Xander inside. Xander looked around curiously as Spike shut the door behind them. The focal point of the room was a massive bed with a black, wrought iron frame. The bed was unmade, and slate grey silk sheets twined sinuously around a black coverlet with scarlet piping.

_How very gothic of you, Spike. Sheesh. You almost need a stepstool to climb up into that thing._

The door clicked shut softly, and Spike turned Xander around to face him. He slipped his fingers under Xander's eye patch and gently lifted it from his head. Then he cupped Xander's jaw in his hand and leaned closer until his lips brushed across Xander's. Spike's lips were firm and tasted faintly of smoke and bitter hops.

When Spike licked the corner of his mouth, Xander shivered and wrapped his arms around him. Spike tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Xander's neck and pressed their bodies tightly together. Spike didn't curve into him the way Anya or Cordelia had. Instead of softness that yielded, Spike was hardness and muscle, a dense weight fixed against his own.

Xander tentatively reached under Spike's shirt, his hands skimming across the cool span of Spike's back. Spike pulled away from Xander momentarily; Xander took advantage and lifted Spike's shirt over his head. Xander had seen Spike's naked torso more times than he could count, but he'd never touched that taut belly with the flat of his hands or traced the line of a clavicle with his tongue before now. Spike drew in a breath when Xander licked his nipple. The pale disc hardened in Xander's warm mouth, and Spike's hand fisted tighter in Xander's hair.

What had begun as a series of gentle kisses was rapidly gaining in passion and intensity. Spike backed them up until the tops of Xander's thighs hit the edge of the bed. Xander felt a moment of slight panic. _I know this was my idea, but maybe we're moving too fast._

But then Spike was trying to push him down on the bed, and nothing was happening because the bed was too high, the angle all wrong. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered, and then he laughed, and Xander laughed, too. It took some maneuvering, but they finally got up into the bed, giggling, and everything was alright again.

For what seemed to Xander like hours, they lay in the tangle of Spike's sheets, pressing kisses into each other's heated flesh. Spike's mouth followed the musculature of Xander's body, tongue caressing the curve of a pectoral and winding its way down to tease Xander's belly button. Xander moaned softly, his eye closed. When he opened it, Spike was looking at him, his hands resting lightly on Xander's fly button.

~ ~ ~

Xander leaned back against Harmony's desk and watched the elevator doors open and close. Spike was doing . . . something . . . and Xander had gotten bored waiting for him in an empty office. He thought about the previous night and grinned. _I made out with Spike. As in, rolled all around the bed like a couple of teenagers and ended up with his hands stuck down my pants. And then my hands were down his pants. Ahh, the goodness of hands down the pants. William the Bloody gets off on old-fashioned making out. Who knew?_

For once, Harmony wasn't her usual talkative self. She greeted Xander with the requisite subtle-as-a-ton-of-bricks flirtation, but midway into the spiel her voice trailed off. Now she sat at her desk, glancing up at Xander furtively and sniffing as if she had a cold.

Finally, after a particularly lengthy intake of air, Xander turned to Harmony and asked, "Harm, are you smelling me?"

"No. Well, yes. But only a little. It's just . . . you smell all like Spike. I mean, you _smell_ like him, and I don't get it. Did you guys watch porn together or something gross like that?"

Xander laughed. "Yeah. Something gross like that."

Harmony cocked her head to the side and looked at him for a long moment, before her eyes widened comically. "Oh. Oh!" She stood up, flustered, and came around to the front of her desk. "Just let me warn you, Xander. Spike may have a pretty face, and a great body, and be really good in bed, but he will break your heart. Spike is not a giver; he's a taker. And he will take and take and take until you're sitting all alone in your bed eating Haagen-Dazs and feeling disgusted with yourself for dressing up like the Slayer 'cause you said you'd never do that ever again. Not even if he does that bitey thing you like so much."

"Umm . . . thanks, Harmony. I'll keep that in mind." Xander stifled a laugh; he could tell that Harmony still had feelings for Spike, even if she'd transformed most of them into indignation at the way he'd treated her. Harmony grated on Xander's nerves, but he didn't want to hurt her. After all, she was a piece of Sunnydale, something of Cordy walking around still, something familiar, something like home.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and a young man and what looked to be his parents stepped out of the car into the lobby. Xander hadn't seen Angel all day, but before the elevator doors even had time to close, he was welcoming the new arrivals to Wolfram and Hart and ushering them into his office.

_That was . . . odd. Angel looks like he's seen a ghost._

~ ~ ~

Xander knocked tentatively on Angel's door. Spike hadn't shown up yet, and he could only take so much of Harmony's relationship management tips before he did something drastic. Angel's guests had left Wolfram and Hart a half hour ago, so Xander knew he was alone.

At Angel's, "Come in," Xander opened the door and stepped inside. Angel looked up at him sharply, nostrils flaring. He didn't say anything, though; he just shook his head and smiled at Xander.

_God, this whole vampire smelling thing is really weirding me out. Deadboy's gonna know every time Spike and I do anything, and that's just freaky. Well, at least he's not offering me sex tips based on his star-crossed love affair with Spike. I've really gotta see about setting Harmony up with some nice, upwardly mobile vampire._

"Angel, are you alright? You seemed, I don't know, bothered by those people that came to see you earlier. They didn't look like the normal Wolfram and Hart clientele. What gives?"

Angel slouched back in the chair, letting his muscles go slack, trading in what Xander could now identify as his I'm-the-boss-everything's-fine-don't-worry-about-me-I-have-no-feelings face for an expression of regret. "That was my son. Connor."

"What was he doing here? I thought he doesn't know who you are." Xander wished he had looked more closely at the young man as he walked through the lobby. He would've liked to see a glimpse of Angel in Connor, maybe in something around the eyes or in the way he held his hands.

"We monitor him closely. He had occasion to use his super-strength earlier this week. His abilities are disturbing to his family. They're worried about him, about what he can do, what he might be. I had someone intervene and direct them to Wolfram and Hart for guidance."

"What did you tell him?"

Angel sighed. "Some ESP paranormal psychobabble bullshit. One in every two hundred Americans has some kind of special gift, blah blah blah. Use it wisely. I don't think he bought it, but the parents did."

"That's good, right? I mean, your secret's safe, and everything's cool." Xander watched Angel stack a small pile of paperclips, then scatter them with a sweep of his hand. He felt like he should touch him, hug him maybe, but Xander had never really been a hugger, except with Willow, and he wasn't certain that Angel would welcome the gesture.

Before he had time to further contemplate the issue, the door opened and Spike walked in. He smiled when he saw that Xander was with Angel. He sat next to Xander in one of Angel's conference chairs, laying a proprietary hand on Xander's thigh. Xander flashed to waking that morning with Spike curled around his back, his hand in much the same position. He'd thought it might be awkward, waking up in the same bed as Spike, both of them wearing nothing but their underwear. But it wasn't. Spike had just kissed him on the shoulder and said, "Morning, luv." Then they'd gone to the kitchen for breakfast, and Xander had eaten a bowl of Weetabix. One look at his face and Spike had laughed. "Guess we better stock up on some real food, huh?"

_I was thinking that's when I knew this is real, that it means something to Spike. Nothing says relationship like a trip to Wal-mart. But that's not true. I knew it last night when he didn't push me too hard or too far, and I knew it when he said my name before we fell asleep. Not Harris. Not mate. But Xander. Oh, yeah. Been hearing that all morning._

Xander came back to attention when he realized that both Spike and Angel were watching him daydream. "Where have you been all day?" he asked Spike, in a bid to distract them from his wool-gathering.

"Talking to Dru. We have a little schedule worked out—every two weeks like clockwork, we talk online. She goes to one of those CyberCafe places and IM's me. Took bloody forever to get her to sign off this time. She knows something's coming. I had to listen to two hours of Miss Edith's pronouncements on the impending apocalypse." Spike took in Angel's expression and said, "What's wrong, Angel? You look like hell."

"Connor was here," Angel answered. "He was happier than I've ever seen him. He's gotten scholarships to several Ivy League schools, and he's dating some girl. Nice, smart, pretty."

"So then, what's the problem, mate?"

"When he said Dad, he didn't mean me."

"Oh." Spike looked as if he would've liked to say more but wasn't quite sure what was appropriate.

"Yeah. Oh." Angel picked up one of the paperclips and began unbending it. "Listen, Xander. I wanted to tell you. _Star Trek_ allusion aside, you were right the other day. I'm breaking the memory spell. I can't do this alone anymore. Even if they all leave, they have to know the truth."

"What about Connor?" Xander asked.

"I'm leaving the spell intact for him. It may be wrong. It may be mindfucking him," he glanced at Xander when he said that word, "but he's my kid. _My_ kid, even if he doesn't know it. He's happy and safe, and I'm not screwing that up." Angel crossed his arms and glared at Spike and Xander as if he expected them to disagree with him.

"When are you doing it?" Spike asked softly.

"Pretty much now. We've got a departmental chair meeting in twenty minutes."

Xander stared to rise. "We should go then."

But Angel waved him back down into his seat. "No, stay. Both of you. You're family. And if they all leave, you're the only family I've got left."

~ ~ ~

"Well, that was . . . intense." Xander helped himself to a glass of Angel's single malt whiskey. "I thought they'd all be pissed about the spell. I guess Angel did, too. But turns out they understand why he did it. It's all the stuff the spell was hiding that's doing the damage."

Spike held out his glass for another drink. "I think they'll be alright, though. Fred and Percy left together, and the rest of the lot are still in there hashing things out. Nobody threatened to pack their bags or take a swan dive off the roof."

Harmony opened Angel's door and poked her head in. "Guys, I'm under strict orders not to interrupt Angel, but something kinda big's come up. Our branch in Italy is having some problems, and they need Angel to send a team to deal with it."

Xander raised his glass. "Fieldtrip! I can see Andrew!"

Spike clinked his glass with Xander's and said excitedly, "And Niblet!"

_And Buffy_, Xander thought, but the name lay unspoken between them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander buckled his seat-belt and pushed back the screen that covered the oval window at his left elbow. Through it he could see the tarmac, a washed out expanse of concrete and machinery, the colorless after-image of brilliant light. In the mid-day sun, heat lines blurred the air above every available surface. Xander looked at the long stretch of runway and counted the dips that seemed to be filled with water. _'Angel bright; life in death; get off this road; don't suck my breath.'_* He watched the sun refract through the line of tiny bourbon bottles Spike had arranged on his fold-down tray; the light ran through the amber liquid and made patterns on Spike's bare arm.

"What's with the booze fort?"

"A man can have a drink if he wants."

From his seat across the aisle, Angel countered, "He's a little nervous. Spike's never flown before. Neither have I, actually. Too risky without this necro-tempered glass."

"I'm not afraid. Just doesn't seem right for a bloke to hang in the air with jackshit holding him up."

"There, there." Xander grinned and patted Spike on the arm. "You drink your manly teaspoons of liquid courage, and don't worry your pretty head about it anymore."

"Shut up, Harris," Spike replied, but the corners of his mouth threatened to turn up and his tone was affectionate.

Angel seemed in good spirits as well. Breaking the memory spell had gone much better than he'd anticipated. Xander didn't know exactly what they'd all said to each other in the meeting, but no one had threatened to leave or said anything terrible they'd later regret. In fact, every member of the AI team had been at the Wolfram and Hart airport to see them off. Xander was glad that the rift between Angel and his friends was healing; if anyone deserved a break, Xander thought Angel was that guy.

The pilot instructed them to fasten their seat belts, and the plane rumbled beneath them as it geared up for take-off. Spike clutched his armrests tightly, pale knuckles turning even whiter with the force of his grip. Xander leaned over and whispered, his breath warm and wet against Spike's ear, "You know, I can think of a few ways to take your mind off flying."

~ ~ ~

"Are you sure this is it?" Xander asked. He didn't know what he had expected, but this thoroughly modern and expensive looking townhouse hadn't been it. He'd figured on a villa, some artfully cultivated grape vines, maybe a peasant or two leaning against the earthy bricks for good measure—not sleek glass and the cold glimmer of steel.

"Yeah. This is the address Andrew gave you."

Xander knocked on the door and listened. He could hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and then the door flung open and a very enthusiastic Andrew was hugging him.

"Xander! _Hola, mi amigo_. It's been too long." Andrew rested his head on Xander's shoulder for a long moment and then squeezed his forearm in the age old manly-grip-of-emotional-camaraderie-too-deep-to-express-in-words. "And Spike! Good to see you again. Enter. Enter. _Mi casa es su casa_. Well, it's not actually my house, but I'm sure Buffy and Dawn would say the same." Andrew motioned them inside with a flourish of his hand.

_Wow, Spike's restraint is impressive. Only one eye roll so far._

Andrew bustled around the sitting room, sweeping Dawn's fashion magazines into a tidy pile and plumping pillows on the couch. "Sit, sit. Can I get you something to drink?"

_Oh god. I haven't seen him this nervous in forever. Not since he got his first Council assignment. I mean, he's standing way over there instead of sitting on the couch beside me, and he hasn't asked any inappropriate questions about me and Spike._

"I'm good, mate," Spike replied politely.

Xander laughed. "You should be. You drank the whole mini-bar on the plane ride over, even the sorority-girl issue white zinfandel. I, however, am dying for a beer. Somebody was stingy."

"Okay." Andrew disappeared into another room. He called back to them over the clinking of glass, "Hey, where's Angel? I thought he came with you guys."

"He's at the Italian branch of Wolfram and Hart. Something about warring factions and a head and a twenty-four hour deadline. I kinda stopped paying attention after Angel said he would take care of it," Xander said as Andrew re-emerged, carrying three beers. Spike raised his eyebrow when Andrew handed him one.

"Thought you might change your mind," Andrew explained before sitting down in an armchair adjacent to the couch.

"Ta." Spike took a long swallow of the beer, tilting his head back slightly as he did so. "But you know Xander told me why you acted so bloody stupid in L.A. Don't have to walk on eggshells around me; I get it. You were caught between a rock and a hard place."

Xander watched Andrew watch the play of muscles in Spike's throat as he swallowed. By the time Spike's speech had gotten to hard places, Andrew was blushing slightly and looking at the tile floor. _Oh, yeah. That's Spike. He can turn the most innocent conversation into something dirty; I don't even think he realizes he's doing it half the time._ Xander almost giggled when Andrew finally looked at him; he could tell from Andrew's guilty expression that he knew he'd been caught ogling Spike. Spike himself looked slightly confused but covered that up by lighting a cigarette and blowing a thick, obscuring mouthful of smoke into the air.

"Thanks, Spike. It really means a lot to me that you understand. You're, like, my hero, and I . . . am shutting up now. Dawn's been working with me on the whole knowing when to quit thing. So, new topic. Okay, Xander. 'Fess up. What did you do to Giles? He's been moping around to Lynard Skynard and refusing to mention your name."

"That's part of what I have to talk to you about, but I only want to tell the story once. Where are Buffy and Dawn?"

Andrew shrugged. "Tal took them to the gala opening of some swanky new boutique. Like those girls need any more shoes. Imelda Marcos would call them obsessive. I have no idea when they'll be back. Those things have been known to go on half the night."

_Fuck me._ Xander tried to signal Andrew with his eyes to can the Immortal talk, but to no avail. Usually, he and Andrew had going what Xander had called once over pizza and Heineken "this crazy-ass symbiosis thingie," but Andrew was too busy peeling the label on his beer to notice Xander's warning.

Spike leaned forward, an alarmed expression on his face. "Tal? You mean, the Immortal? Out with Buffy and Dawn?" Spike thought for a moment. "He's not coming here, is he? I really could do without seeing that wanker again. Ever."

"Nah," Andrew answered. "He never comes over now that I'm staying with the girls. He tries to steer clear of the Council, stay as much under the radar as he can while still dating a Slayer."

"What?" Spike whispered. "Buffy's dating the Immortal?"

_Shit, shit, shit!! I can't believe I forgot to tell Spike about Buffy and the Immortal. Xander Harris, you are the biggest dumbass of all time. It's like you WANT to screw up this thing with Spike._

Andrew set his beer down on the coffee table and made a placating gesture with his hands. "Oh, god, Spike. I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Especially since you and Xander are, you know, ummm . . ." His voice trailed off.

Spike turned to Xander, who sat next to him on the couch. "You knew." His words were not a question.

"Yeah. I knew. But I wasn't keeping it from you on purpose. Okay, at first I was. But then, everything just started happening so fast, and I kinda forgot I hadn't told you." Xander held his breath and waited for Spike to respond.

"Relax, Harris. I'm not pissed off at you. I get why you didn't tell me. Not like you start something new by dwelling on the old." He shifted closer to Xander on the couch and rested his hand on Xander's thigh. Xander slid his hand under Spike's and threaded their fingers together. "Just don't know what Buffy can possibly see in him." He took a long drag and muttered on the exhalation, "Angel's gonna love this."

_The last time Spike thought I was keeping stuff from him, he went totally bat-shit about it. I really hope he's not just saying he understands 'cause he doesn't wanna fight in front of Andrew. Guess I'll find out soon enough._

Just then, someone knocked on the door. "Speak of the devil."

Andrew opened the door. "I invite you in, Angel. As a sign of friendship, I part my threshold."

Angel did a double-take, but quickly recovered and stepped inside. Xander squeezed Spike's hand, hard, in order to keep him from laughing. By the time Angel had seated himself next to Spike on the couch, Andrew was already pressing a beer into his hand.

"Listen, Angel. I'm really sorry for the way I acted in L.A. I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it," Angel interrupted smoothly. "Xander explained everything. We're cool. And thanks for the beer."

Andrew sat back down in the armchair, a warm glow suffusing his face. Xander decided to change the subject, quickly, before Andrew began waxing poetic about the gallant overhang of Angel's brow or the valiant gleam in his soulful eyes. Andrew had changed significantly since the Sunnydale days, but his tendency toward hero worship had stayed with him.

"That didn't take long," Xander said.

"No," Angel agreed. "I think the Senior Partners are just giving us busywork, something to keep us occupied while . . . " He stopped before his comment revealed any of their plans.

"That reminds me, Andrew. Can you set up some wards in the house? We don't want anybody listening in. Oh, and if you can get them to cover the phone, that'd be great. I guess I have to talk to Giles before this is over." _And, boy, am I looking forward to that conversation._

"Sure. Let me get some supplies together." Andrew opened a wooden chest on the far side of the room and started measuring an assortment of herbs into a metal brazier he brought from the kitchen. Xander thought he looked confident, in his element. He found the change from Andrew's previous insecurity a welcome one.

Spike let go of Xander's hand to lean across him and poke Angel in the chest. "Guess who Buffy's dating now."

Angel sighed. "The Immortal."

Spike looked dumbfounded. "How'd you know?"

"I've kinda been keeping tabs on her," he admitted.

"Okaaaay. Stalkery much?" Xander commented. Angel just shot him a long-suffering glance and drained his beer bottle.

Across the room, Andrew said something in Latin and a bright green light shot from the brazier and painted all flat surfaces of the room in strange, scrolling symbols. Xander looked at Andrew and said, "I can go on vacation . . ."

" . . . and finally BE ABLE TO RELAX!!!" Andrew finished, laughing.

Angel turned to Spike. "Your boyfriend is weird."

Spike nodded. "Sometimes it's endearing," he offered.

_Wooo hooo! Public endorsement from the in-laws! And Spike did not shoot down the boyfriend comment. Does that mean we're boyfriend and . . . boyfriend now? Or what? This is so much more confusing than my other relationships. Cool, but confusing._

Andrew took a purple drawstring bag from the box. "While I'm working the mojo, may as well take care of this, too." He reached into the pouch and grabbed a handful of something, throwing it over Angel's head and chanting in a language Xander didn't recognize. A golden, glittering cloud descended on Angel, adhering to his skin before working its way in and disappearing.

"What the hell?" Angel stood up and brushed at his clothes frantically.

"That, my friend, is one happiness clause rescinded. Your soul is now anchored. So make with the happies all you like and no more Angelus."

Angel looked stunned. So did Spike, for that matter. Xander was sure he was wearing a gobsmacked expression himself.

"This is your doing, isn't it, pet?"

"It was my idea, but obviously Andrew's magic guy. I didn't think he'd be able to find a spell so soon, though."

"Thank you. Thank you both. So much." Angel sat back down slowly. "But how? I don't understand. I didn't think the magic existed."

Andrew grinned. "It exists. You just have to have the right contacts."

"Who do you know that Rupert doesn't, Andrew?" Spike asked suspiciously.

Andrew took a sip of his now warm beer and refused to meet anyone's eyes. "Well, it's really a mutual acquaintance."

Xander felt a sudden pang of unease. "That Giles couldn't ask? Who is it?"

Andrew sighed and mumbled into his beer, "Ethan Rayne."

Xander was across the room and shaking Andrew by the shoulders before Spike or Angel even had a chance to register his initial movement. "Have you gone slap nuts!? You have got to be kidding me, Andrew. You've heard the stories. You know that guy is bad news. He tried to kill us, more than once. How can you trust the spell's any good?"

Andrew stepped out of Xander's grip. "Chill, Xander. I had the coven in Devon check out the magic. It's sound. Angel's soul is forever now. And anyway, it's not like people can't change. Look at me," he said softly. "So he tried to kill you. I actually did kill somebody. Ethan's different. The Initiative really messed him up. Did experiments and crap on him. They even forced him to influence global politics—magically start uprisings, mojo the Senate into voting for a certain bill, that kinda thing. He can't work with Chaos anymore; the Initiative made him call on Janus so many times, so close together . . . It's kinda hard to explain, but it's like he blew a fuse."

"So Ethan can't call on the forces of darkness anymore. That doesn't mean he's out shopping for white hats."

Andrew narrowed his eyes. "That's really unfair. What about me, Xan? You think I gutted Jonathon and ran into the Scooby folds 'cause I was sorry? 'Cause I wanted some redemption? That stuff came later. At first I was just scared; also the keeping me hostage helped, but mostly I was scared. Cut Ethan some slack. Or else you better ask yourself how you can sleep next to someone who did far worse things than Ethan ever dreamed of doing."

Angel and Spike stood up, both clearly intending to mediate the argument. Before either could say anything, Xander's jaw dropped, and he pointed a finger accusingly at Andrew. "Oh My God! You slept with him!"

"Ummmmm . . ." Andrew bit his lip and looked at the floor.

Before anyone else could speak, Xander heard a car pull into the drive. A key scraped in the lock, and Buffy and Dawn came inside, both girls hidden behind tall stacks of shoeboxes.

"Andrew!" Buffy called out. "A little help, please."

Andrew took the stack of boxes from her arms, and Buffy surveyed the room. "Angel? What's wrong? Why are you here? With Xander and . . . oh god . . . Spike?"

 

*paraphrased from _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

"Spike?" Buffy stood with one hand firm against her breast, fingers splayed as if to grip her heart, her face upturned and caught in that expression shared by both rapture and great pain. Xander thought she looked like one of the many saints they'd seen immortalized in bronze in the courtyards of churches between the airport and Buffy's home. Behind her, Dawn squealed and dropped her boxes, scattering shoes and tissue paper all over the living room floor.

"Spike! You're alive! I can't believe it." Dawn ran to Spike, rocking him back on his heels with the force of her embrace. His arms circled her automatically before he visibly forced his attention from Buffy's silent, unwavering gaze. Dawn stepped away and put her hands on her hips. "You suck. Don't ever do that to me again. I really missed you." Then she hugged him once more, her tears a darkening bloom on his shirt front.

"Missed you, too, Niblet. Missed all you lot." Spike looked back at Buffy as he said this last, and Xander felt something twist deep in his gut.

_Don't be stupid, Xander. Of course he missed Buffy. He loved her . . . loves her. Doesn't mean . . . 'Course he missed her._ Xander looked down, unable to bear the tension in the room, the anticipation of Buffy's words stretching out the air to a fine, brittle point.

Andrew put his hand on Xander's shoulder and squeezed. Xander leaned back into the touch gratefully. _We've just had our worst argument—God, our ONLY real argument—and here's Andrew comforting me like I didn't just call him a moron with a death wish._

"Where have you been? How'd you come back? Did you go to heaven like Buffy said?" Dawn sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Spike himself looked like a statue, a pale marble figure turned to life, animated by his astonishment at her question. "You told Dawn I went to heaven?"

Buffy smiled, gloriously. "Didn't you?" She stepped closer, and he put shaking arms around her. Then Dawn was hugging Xander and trying to tell him a million things at once, most of which concerned her new boyfriend, Paolo. When Spike and Buffy seemed unlikely to part any time soon, Angel and Xander shared an awkward glance over the top of Dawn's head.

Angel had moved away when Dawn rushed Spike, fading into his preferred position in the background. He leaned against the far wall now, something wistful and patient and resigned in his expression. _Guess Buffy's not the only one to get beautiful martyr down pat tonight. And where's that leave me? "One of these things is not like the other one; one of these things does not belong." And guess which one—yep, that'd be me, the jealous pirate._

Dawn waved at Angel as she pulled Xander towards the couch. Xander knew that Dawn and Angel had never actually met, but his memories told him that Dawn was afraid of Angel. In the past the monks had created for her, Dawn had been very young when Angel lost his soul on Buffy's birthday; all she really remembered of him was Angelus. Xander wasn't surprised that her reception of Angel was cool and distant.

Finally, Buffy pulled back from Spike, who sat beside Xander on the couch as Buffy greeted her other guests. "Angel," she said simply, and hugged him. Xander thought she looked uncharacteristically fragile next to Angel's broad bulk. Then Buffy was pulling Xander to his feet and squeezing him so tightly his ribs creaked. _Okay, maybe not so fragile._

They sat back down again, Xander sandwiched in between Spike and Buffy, Dawn perched on the arm of the couch closest to Spike. Andrew reclaimed the armchair, and Angel maintained his slouch against the far wall. Before Xander could begin the spiel he'd prepared on the plane ride over, Buffy drew back and popped him sharply against the side of the head.

"Ow!" he said. "What's that for?"

"Not calling your friends, dumbass. Now, what's going on? I haven't seen you in close to a year, Xander. Somehow I don't think you're here to make s'mores and watch Bollywood."

"But we could. Make s'mores, I mean," Dawn interrupted. "I'm hungry."

Xander smiled. _I've really missed this. In three seconds Buffy's gonna roll her eyes and say something smart. Then Dawn'll toss her hair over her shoulder and look down her nose at Buffy, but we'll all be eating smooshy chocolate before you know it._ However, the script didn't play out as Xander predicted; Buffy merely agreed with the caveat that she wasn't making them and she wasn't repeating anything anyone said while someone else was making them. Dawn nodded and settled herself more comfortably on the couch arm. Apparently she was willing to sacrifice a sugar high to hear whatever story Xander had to tell. This moment was small, insignificant even, but Xander felt a vague sense of loss and disconnection when he looked at Dawn quietly crossing her legs and smoothing her dress down over her thighs.

"Okay," Xander said. "Something world endy's going down, as usual. I know Giles said that Angel can't be trusted, that Wolfram and Hart has poisoned him, but, Buffy, this is big. Huger than Glory, huger than the First. Giles is—"

"Wrong," Buffy interrupted. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

~ ~ ~

Xander sighed and flopped down face first on Andrew's bed. Everyone else was still talking strategy in the living room; he could just barely hear the low hum of their voices through Andrew's bedroom wall. He'd left the makeshift war council under the pretense that he had to call Giles but, truthfully, Xander was freaking out. Buffy had agreed to help them more readily than he'd ever imagined, and they'd already made and revised (three times, no less) a rather solid set of attack plans. But Xander couldn't stop thinking about the hallucination he'd had in L.A.—the one where Spike had chosen the Slayer over the Zeppo.

_I mean, he's not throwing himself at her feet and begging her to marry him, but he's not exactly announcing that he and I are . . . involved, either. And how's he supposed to do that anyway? Is there a good way for that to just come up in conversation? 'So, Buffy, I know I said I'd love you for all eternity, but lately I've been playing grope and tickle with Xander; isn't that just the darndest thing?'_ Xander put Andrew's pillow over the back of his head and briefly considered attempting to asphyxiate himself with it. _Nah, I'd just pass out and Dawnie'd paint my toenails Bahama Mama yellow or something. And then Spike would choose Buffy for her superior pedicure. Oh well, can't put this off any longer._

Xander pulled himself upright and slowly punched in the numbers to Giles's personal phone. It rang several times before Giles answered.

"Hello. Rupert Giles speaking."

"Hey, Giles. It's Xander."

Xander could hear a door closing and the rustling of papers. Then the airwaves were silent for long minutes. "Xander." Giles paused. Xander imagined that he heard the soft _swish swish_ of a linen handkerchief on glass lenses, and then Giles cleared his throat and began again. "Xander, I owe you an apology. Every word you said to me before is true. You are not the same young man I feared for years ago. You have made mistakes, at times very imprudent ones, but then, so have I. These last years have changed you. You've grown into the kind of man I always hoped you'd be—smart, insightful, and willing to give an old fool the what for. You make me proud. I should never have been more willing to trust the judgment of strangers."

Xander grinned. "No worries, Giles. All is forgiven. How long you been practicing that speech?"

"Since approximately ten minutes after you hung up on me."

"I hear Lynard Skynard's good inspirational music." Giles made a _tsk-ing_ sound, and Xander smiled again. "Seriously, Giles, it means a lot, what you said. I know Buffy's the one you came to Sunnydale to watch, but I'm sure glad you watched out for the rest of us."

"Speaking of your former circle, Andrew passed on the news about Cordelia. I understand that you were with her shortly before she died. I'm terribly sorry, Xander. Although her blunt honesty was at times grating, Cordelia was a most extraordinary young woman. She will be missed."

"Yeah, she will. One of these days, when it's only apocalypse soonish, we're gonna have to talk about everything she said. But not today. Giles, I need you to do something. All our plans pretty much hinge on you and Willow being able to pull off some kinda mass teleportation spell. We're gonna need Slayers, as many as you can send, for this to work, but we also need the element of surprise. Do you think that can be done?"

"Yes, I believe so," Giles said. "Utilizing the power of the coven at Devon will be essential, but I think we can accomplish that feat. What sort of timeframe do you have in mind?"

"I don't know; we'll contact you later with more details. In the meantime, you should make arrangements with the Slayers, choosing which ones will go and that kinda thing. Remember, this is real secret-like and the Senior Partners keep tabs on us. Make sure you ward any conversations about it."

Giles sighed. "Xander, while I am an admitted old fool, I am not a damned one. I do understand the need for secrecy."

"Sorry. Listen, I gotta let you go. We're gonna be leaving soon."

"Alright, Xander. Take care."

"Bye, Giles."

As Xander slipped his cell back into his pocket, Andrew opened the door and closed it behind him quietly. He sat down on the bed beside Xander and threw him an unopened beer.

"Thanks," Xander said and used the hem of his shirt to twist the cap off. "So, what's going on out there?"

"Not much. Angel is still in the corner making cow eyes at Buffy, Dawn's interrupting her every two sentences, and Spike and Buffy are still sitting with a Xander-shaped space between them."

"Well, that's something, I guess." Xander took a long swallow of beer. "Andrew, about Ethan. I'm dropping it, okay? I'm chewing you out about stuff I don't even understand. When all this is over and we get five minutes, explain it to me, alright?"

"Okay. Thanks." Andrew looked like he was about to say something more, but Dawn's short knock, followed by her entrance, prevented him.

"Xander, what's going on with you and Spike?" Dawn crossed her arms and leveled a stare at him.

Xander looked quickly at Andrew, who shrugged. "Ummm….what do you mean, going on with me and Spike?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I mean, the whole time you were in the living room you kept looking at him the way Angel's looking at Buffy. You know, like you were going to throw up but were really, really sad about it. And when you left the room, Spike kinda shook himself like he'd been daydreaming or something. Now he keeps staring at this wall," she pointed behind her, "and squinting like he's trying to listen to whatever you're doing in here. So, what's going on with you and Spike?"

Xander looked again at Andrew, who again shrugged. "Well, it's complicated. We're, ah, we're kinda . . ." He poked Andrew sharply in the side. "A little help here, please."

"Well, Dawn, Spike and Xander's situation is very similar to the one between Jean Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher. You see, early in his career Picard's best friend was Dr. Crusher's husband. Unfortunately, this worthy man, whose name and rank escapes me at the moment, which is weird, 'cause I hardly ever forget things like that. But anyway, this worthy man died and eventually Picard became captain of that most glorious of vessels, the Starship Enterprise, and Dr. Crusher became his chief medical officer. Over time they fell madly in love, but always in between them was the shadow of her slain husband."

Xander looked at Andrew incredulously. "You think that's helping?"

Andrew pulled nervously on a loose thread that hung from the bottom of his jeans. "Not really. But I cave under pressure. You know that. It's your fault for asking."

Suddenly Dawn gasped and pointed at Xander. "Oh my god! You're Captain Picard! I mean, you and Spike have a thing!"

"Shhhhh, Dawnie. I don't think the neighbors heard you. Yes, me and Spike have a thing. Actually, that's a really good way of putting it. We have a thing. A largely undefined thing."

Dawn sat in Andrew's desk chair. "A thing that might be screwed up now that he's seen Buffy again."

"Yeah. When did you get so grown up, Dawn?"

She smiled at him a little sadly. "I've always been grown up. I'm older than you are. A lot older." But then she giggled and bounced in her seat. "Oh, man. This is crazy. I never knew you were gay. I never knew _Spike_ was gay. This is so cool."

Xander snorted. "Well, I'm glad you think so, Dawnie. Although, to be fair, I guess we're really both bisexual. And I cannot believe I'm talking to you about this."

Andrew stood up. "Maybe I should get more beer." He opened the door, pulling the doorknob from Buffy's loose grip. Spike and Angel stood behind her in the hall and followed her inside.

"Okay, I guess the party's moved." Xander drained the last lukewarm and frothy sip of beer from the bottle and set it on Andrew's night stand. "What's up?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Spike said . . . Spike said that you and he are dating. Is that true?"

Xander looked at Spike. Spike seemed a little anxious about Buffy's reaction, but he still smiled at Xander encouragingly. "Yes."

"Oh." Buffy sat down on the bed beside Xander. "That's unexpected." She laughed a little. "Okay, this is really weird. But not bad. Ummmm…. It's good, even. How did . . . why . . .I don't even know what to ask." She reached out and poked Andrew sharply in the side. "Alright, gay man, help me here."

Andrew took a deep breath, but Spike beat him to the punch. "Buffy, I don't expect you to understand. I know it seems off, me and Harris, after everything that happened back in Sunnydale. But there's something between us, something that feels right in a way that what we had never did."

Buffy twisted a silver ring around and around her index finger. She looked up then at Spike. "I don't exactly understand, but I can say I'm happy for you both. Too many of us end up alone for this not to be a good thing."

~ ~ ~

Spike and Angel climbed into the backseat of the taxi as Xander gave Buffy one last hug goodbye. The night air was cool and damp, and from somewhere Xander could hear the faint sound of running water.

"Bye, Buffy. I promise I won't be so long between visits."

"You better not be. I miss you, Xander. We all do. Please call Willow. It really hurts her that you won't call."

"I will. Again, I promise." Xander bent his head to her ear and whispered, "Angel's soul is anchored now. He can never become Angelus again. Just thought you should know." And then he kissed her on the cheek and climbed into the taxi, rolling down the window to catch Dawn's and Andrew's last, frantic goodbyes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the Ats ep "Damage." Xander finds out Spike is alive and comes to L. A. to see for himself.

Xander stifled a yawn and shifted his chair closer to Spike's. From across the table, Gunn made good-natured _Awwwwww, isn't that sweet_ faces at him when Spike casually slung his arm around Xander's shoulders in response. He'd stumbled off the plane bleary eyed, exhausted, and fully intending to hold Spike to a rather panicked, naughty promise he'd made during some turbulence over the Atlantic. Instead Xander had found himself in Caritas, pinching himself to stay awake, as Angel described the battle plans to the others. Xander swallowed another yawn and forced himself to pay attention to the conversation.

"So that's the plan. Tomorrow we take on the Senior Partners. Everyone knows what to do? Any questions?" Angel crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He was met with silence. Wesley cleared his throat once as if he meant to speak, but he merely nodded and gripped Fred's hand more tightly. Angel continued, "This won't be easy. We won't all make it. Tonight might be your last night on earth. Don't waste it."

Lorne pushed his chair back from the table. "Don't be such a drama queen, Angelcakes. This is apocalypse number how many for us? For what it's worth, I've got my money on Team Angel." He stepped behind the bar. "Of course, it couldn't hurt to make some pre-Armageddon plans, maybe have one hopefully-not-so-final bash in the old joint. I could sing that new arrangement of "Over the Rainbow" I've been secretly working on. Excuse me, ladies and gents. I've got some calls to make."

Fred stood up. "We'd better be running on, too. If this is my last night on earth, I've got some serious taco eating to tackle before morning."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope there's more on the agenda for this evening than eating tacos."

Fred just giggled and pulled him across the bar toward the door, both of them calling out goodbyes through their laughter. Gunn laughed along with everyone else at Fred's comment, but it sounded bitter and forced to Xander's ears. Gunn left shortly after without volunteering any information about his plans. _I really hope he's got somewhere to be and someone to be there with. Sergeant Doom and Gloom has a point; if tonight's all we've got, I sure as hell wouldn't wanna spend it alone._

As if his thoughts ran along the same lines, Spike pulled Xander closer to him. "So, Peaches. Guess it's just us family left now. Where're you planning to spend the last moments of your unlife?"

Angel sighed. "At Wolfram and Hart, I suppose. I don't want anyone to get suspicious." He picked up a book of matches from a bowl on the table and idly tossed it from hand to hand.

Spike and Xander looked at each other. _I so do not want to spend my last night on earth babysitting Angel, but damn it! He looks so pitiful, and I can tell Spike doesn't want him to be alone. And if I'm really honest, neither do I. Crap._ Xander opened his mouth to invite Angel to come back to Spike's place with them, but before he could say anything, Angel went quiet and still, his attention focused on something behind Xander. Xander turned; Buffy was leaning against the bar, her hands in her pockets.

"Buffy, what're you doing here? You were supposed to come through the portal tomorrow with the other Slayers," Angel said.

Buffy shrugged. "I couldn't wait."

~ ~ ~

Spike opened the door to his apartment and tossed his duster on the coffee table. He fanned out a stack of restaurant menus on the end of the counter, pulling a green one from the pile. "You wanna get some Chinese takeaway, luv? That place down on South Seventh has good—"

Xander took the menu from Spike's hand and threw it back on the counter. "Shut up already, would you? Last night on earth, remember?" And then they were kissing, hard and desperate, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers. They fell back on the couch clumsily, Spike's mouth wet and moving on his neck.

Finally, they were both naked, pressed thigh to thigh, chest to chest. Spike made little needy noises into Xander's neck when Xander twisted his hips against him and ran his hands down between them. Then Spike pulled back from him, just looking, his body never stopping that slip slide against Xander's, his hands busy on Xander's damp skin. Xander could see himself reflected in Spike's eyes, could see his own mouth open and panting for breath, his own cheeks flushed with desire. He wondered what Spike saw in his eyes. _Me. Only me._

They kissed again, and then Spike was slipping wet fingers into him. Xander gasped and clutched Spike's shoulders tightly. Spike looked at him once more, as if searching for doubt, before easing himself into Xander, sliding forward gradually until flesh met flesh. He stopped for a long moment, their bodies joined together motionlessly, Xander slick with sweat, shaking and biting his bottom lip. Then Spike drew back and pushed into Xander again, again, again, until the edges of everything blurred and Xander felt warm and liquid. When he came, Xander thought he would dissolve, become indistinct from Spike, from the bed, the room, the almost unbearable pleasure that flowed into him from every place they touched.

Later, much later, when they were both limp and exhausted, Xander curled around Spike's back and pressed his face into Spike's shoulder. They slept.

Xander woke once, lamplight on his face and Spike busy scribbling something on a sheet of loose leaf at the desk. Xander watched Spike write, watched the quick movements of the tendons at his wrist, the furrow in his brow when he paused to think. Xander dozed again, and when he woke next he was alone. He could hear Spike in the kitchen, heating up a mug of blood or maybe a cold slice of pizza. He padded across the room on bare feet and ran trembling fingers across the words Spike had written while he'd slept.

_I See Monsters_

Baby, I know you cannot hear me now  
'Cause you're fast asleep, but I need you now  
Colors inside your head go spinning round  
Like a Ferris wheel  
Exploding and falling to the ground  
Oh, people are screaming, people are screaming  
My baby, he's dreaming  
Oh, people are shouting, people are freaking  
I'm staring at the ceiling waiting for the feeling  
Oh, when he comes  
I know that he's the one  
Makes me want it harder  
Makes me wanna be a little stronger  
Still I see monsters  
Still I see monsters*

 

~ ~ ~

Afterwards, Xander could barely remember what happened. Some moments hung in his memory with startling clarity—the initial flash of light and then a swirling confluence of colors and Faith stepping through first, stake at the ready; Spike's arm tight on his elbow as they watched the dragon _an honest to god, fucking dragon!_ circle overhead; Andrew holding up his hand, fingers in a taut V and whispering, "Live long and prosper," before the horde of demons rushed the alley. The rest was a jumble of sounds and sensations.

Mostly what Xander remembered later was Angel, the look of surprise and regret on his face, the way his ashes hung in the wet air for a long moment before falling with the rain.

_"I kinda wanna slay the dragon." And Angel leaped forward, his sword bright in all that darkness. Buffy saw it coming first, like in that moment before a cup drops, when it's whole in the hands but waiting to fall. Then there's nothing left but to watch it break on the floor. Buffy screamed, and maybe so did Spike; Xander wasn't sure. Beyond the rain and the sounds of metal on bone all he could hear was his own heart drumming. The dragon came down, eventually, a huge heap of serrated scales and burning coals. Buffy scrabbled in the mud where Angel had fallen, searching for some piece of him, but her hands found nothing. Then Spike was pressing his face into Xander's neck and crying, digging his fingers in at the shoulders, hard, too hard._

~ ~ ~

Xander sat on the beach at Nerja, his back against a boulder worn smooth by centuries of surf. The moon hung high over the sea, a round ball bigger than his fist that illuminated the long stretch of sand with silvery light. Xander could see Spike, many yards out, swimming parallel to the shoreline. His body less cut through the waves than became part of them, the white glow of an ankle the echo of the shine on a white cap, the pale arc of Spike's spine mirroring the bow and bend of the water he swam in.

Xander's fingers tapped expectantly on his cell phone, and as if by magic, it rang.

"Hey, Andrew. I've been waiting for you to call."

Andrew sighed. "I know. Things took longer at the hospital than we thought they would—X-rays, CAT scans, all those vaccinations he missed out on."

"Is he okay?"

"Surprisingly, yeah. He's held up pretty well for a guy who's more than two hundred years old. Other than some smoke inhalation, he's fine."

Another phone call a week ago--Xander was still in L.A. Some of the Slayers had been seriously injured in the battle, and almost everyone had something that needed stitching up. Spike had whispered to him back in the alley, his voice thick with tears, "Wherever you're going, I'll go. There's nothing for me here." But for now, they were all together, bunked down in the hospital lounge, waiting for the wounded to heal.

Xander started when his phone began to ring shrilly in the church quiet of the waiting room. "Who could be calling me? Everyone I know is right here," he said. "Hello?"

"Xander, it's me. Angel."

And Xander nearly dropped the phone; from across the aisle, he could see Spike's eyes widen and his mouth drop open before he snatched the phone from Xander.

Angel had woken up under the remnants of the dragon, bruised and bleeding and human. He told Spike that clawing his way out from under that massive weight took nearly as long as digging through six feet of loamy earth so many years ago. Spike shook his head and said, with something unidentifiable in his voice, " 'No man of woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.' "**

Xander shook his head to clear the memory and focused his attention on the conversation at hand. "Good. I've been worried. Even though he won't admit it, Spike's been really worried about Angel, too. How's he handling the whole human again thing?"

"Pretty okay, I guess. He hasn't taken his lips off Buffy's long enough to really say." Xander could hear the giggle lurking behind Andrew's voice. "Speaking of smoochies, how are things going with you and Spike? Everything was so crazy when you left—Angel Shanshu-ing, all those newbie Slayers still in the hospital. You guys just kinda ran off."

Xander sighed. "I know. But Spike and I haven't had any time together, well, since before we even got together, that wasn't full of apocalypses and evil lawyers and blue sucky demons. Soon as everybody gets on their feet again, it's back to business as usual. And then we'll have to decide what we wanna do—go somewhere on assignment, work at Headquarters, fight the good fight with Angel's crew in L.A, blahblahblahblahblah. We just wanted to be alone for a while before the next time the world almost ends."

"I get that. So this is looking like it might be a permanent type thing, then?"

Spike rose from the water and walked through the shallows toward Xander. He sat beside him on the towel and wrapped wet arms around his middle.

Xander smiled. "Oh, yeah."

 

 

*"I See Monsters" by Ryan Adams on the album _Love is Hell_. I have changed the lyrics slightly to reflect the appropriate gender and to eliminate the word love from the song. Methought it a bit too soon for the L-word.

**Homer, _Iliad_, VI (Bryant trans.)

If anyone's interested, I wrote a seriously wanky post on the making of Shadowlands *snort* [HERE](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lunabee34/40983.html)


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